The Last Ones
by Randomcat1832
Summary: AU. After the Time War, the Doctor was left a broken man. But an unexpected turn of events leaves him suddenly caring for two half-human children. His children. As their worlds are changed forever, the Doctor will have to learn to laugh, love, and live again.
1. When the Children Cry

**The Last Ones**

Author's Introduction: Hello there, and thank you for clicking on this story of mine! Really, it means a lot, and I hope you all enjoy _The Last Ones_. This is an all-new _Doctor Who_ story from me tagged to my favorite genre: hurt/comfort/family, or what I like to call _dark fluff. _  
**Important Note:** I am aware that this story seems a lot like a story written by another fanfiction author, _After the Fall_ by *thatblue. I'd been reading her story and was taken with the premise, and realized I really wanted to write one that was similar. So I sent her a PM asking for her permission to base my story off her plotline premise, and *thatblue told me to feel free. So, while this story will be pretty different than _After the Fall _as a whole, its basic premise is being used with permission. A million thanks to *thatblue for letting me do this.  
My cover image for this story features Isabelle Allen as young Cosette and Daniel Huttlestone as Gavroche from the 2012 _Les Misérables_ movie. Personally, this is how I'm picturing the children.

Warnings: These will apply to the whole story, nearly ever chapter, so I'll just say it now and once. This story will contain several dark themes, primarily themes of depression, but there will be others as well. Thank you.

For my own reference: 7th fanfiction published, 2nd story for _Doctor Who_.

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Chapter One: When the Children Cry

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Numbness.

That's all he felt. Just a plain, empty numbness. Even on the worst days, there was only that dark void of numbness. He was not falling into that void. He'd already fallen deep enough that there was no clawing his way back up. Now he was suspended in midair, floating.

Some days would be full of just emptiness, days when he would just sit in the jump chair in the new console room she'd made for him and stare into space with a blank mind. Other days, their screams would claw their way up into his memory and he would scream, too, and rage — at her, mostly — and there was nothing the TARDIS could do. She'd stopped reaching into his mind recently, stopped trying to console him. Perhaps she was just feeling sorry for herself, she did that sometimes, or perhaps she'd simply given up on him.

Then there were the worst days, when he considered ending it. He could have died along with them, but no, he'd been a coward and run away to regenerate safely in his TARDIS whilst Gallifrey burned, and his people along with it. They would have no chance to regenerate. But now he was still a coward, and he couldn't do it. He could never even come close. He was afraid. Which was ironic, because death was surely a better existence than this thing that dared to call itself a life he now led.

He didn't know what this new body looked like. He'd only bothered to change out of his old clothes when they began to smell so bad they positively reeked, and even he couldn't stand it. Besides, they didn't fit this body: in some places they were too baggy, in others they were so tight he couldn't breathe. He found some jeans, a few T-shirts, and an inconspicuous leather jacket that fit comfortably. He didn't look in the mirror when he picked the clothes out; couldn't bring himself to care.

He wasn't eating, or at least not much. Only when he truly needed to would he take a small bite or two. He was never hungry anymore. He didn't know what hunger was. And sleep only occurred when he was exhausted after a day of raging, and he'd collapse in a heap on the metal grate of the TARDIS floor, only to wake up a half hour later and find himself there, on the floor. He would get up, sit in the jump chair, and go back to that empty staring.

Back into that void of numbness.

Right now, the TARDIS was being stubborn again. She'd planted herself on this blasted planet and refused to move, no matter what he said. He'd shouted at her, and when it became evident that wasn't going to work, he'd tried coaxing her, stroking her console and her walls the way she liked. But that didn't work either.

They'd been sitting here on Earth for over a week now, and the display screen told him it was the year 2179, the precise location London, England. Again. The TARDIS had a fondness for sending him to London.

The Doctor sat in the jump chair. He'd given up on talking the TARDIS out of moving. She'd leave when she wanted to, and there was no dealing with a stubborn spaceship time machine that was, as his old friends always called it, "bigger on the inside".

Suddenly, he heard a knocking on the TARDIS doors. Not the gentle tapping of any curious humans at the sight of this strange blue box. This was a furious hammering of someone with purpose. The Doctor stood doubtfully, for the first time suddenly aware of reality.

"Hello?" he called out. The pounding continued.

After some hesitation, he opened the doors. He didn't know what had driven him to do so, what had driven him to reach out and make interactions with the outside world. He didn't care about that world anymore. He didn't care about anything. But somehow, for some reason, he felt _something. _

In front of him were three figures. One was a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She was in a sorry state, her dark hair matted and dirty, her clothes torn and her front spattered in blood. Some of it was fresh and damp, but some had dried to her shirt in dull, red, flaky crusts. Her feet were bare, despite the fact that the Doctor could feel the chill of the outside world even through his jacket and inside the TARDIS. And out there, it was raining hard, a steady and merciless downpour.

It took him a moment to spot the other two. Children, a girl and a boy, no older than eight years old, hiding behind the woman's frame and peering up at him with wide blue eyes. Both were just as battered-looking as the woman. They were bone-thin and their tattered clothes were too baggy for their tiny bodies. Their small faces were streaked in dirt also, and their feet were bare too, and blue from the cold. It took him a moment to realize they were twins, both with the same blond hair and the same shaped noses, those sad blue eyes identical. The boy's hair was long, almost down to his shoulders. Hers reached her midback. They were both shivering, the girl's teeth chattered and the boy was hugging himself tightly in a vain attempt at warmth. It wasn't until the girl broke into a coughing fit that the Doctor came to his senses. He stepped aside, and almost instantly the woman pushed the children into the TARDIS before following them in herself. When the Doctor didn't shut the doors right away, she did so.

"So," she said at last. "You're the Doctor."

He only nodded. He didn't like the way he was looking at her, so he preoccupied himself in finding blankets for the children. There was a small corridor down the stairs exiting the console room, and he discovered the TARDIS had left him some small blankets. Flannel. He brought these out, offered them to the children. Their little hands grabbed the flannel instantly, and wrapped it around their tiny bodies, rubbing their cheeks against the fabric. They were looking around the TARDIS in awe, but their eyes kept on darting to him.

The woman continued to stare at him, and at last she spoke up again. "They're yours, you know," she announced.

The Doctor froze. "Mine? But that's impossible."

She studied him with a frown. "It's funny, Doctor, because even though my sister only knew you for a few days, she said she was so in love with you. She said that when you left, you promised her that you'd never forget her and that you'd return one day. She waited. You didn't return."

His eyes darted towards the children. And he saw it. He saw the faintest resemblance they bore to _her_, to Maeve. The same shaped nose, the same eyes. He'd been on his fifth body when he'd met her, and he'd done possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. They only slept together that one time in the few days they'd known each other, but he hadn't imagined he'd left her with a child, let alone twins. Hadn't thought that possible with one human, one Time Lord. His own parents had been the exception.

"Maeve," he uttered, almost as an afterthought. "You must be the sister she mentioned. Wasn't it … " He racked his brain for the name he'd heard uttered long ago, hundreds of years ago for him. "Sakura?"

She looked surprised that he'd remembered. "Yes. That's right." She suddenly broke into a coughing fit, like the little girl had. Her coughs were more violent. She dropped to her knees as her entire body shook. She drew her collar to her mouth, and when she drew it away again, it was slick with more fresh blood.

"You're sick," he said, almost as an accusation.

"Yes," Sakura replied. She coughed once more, and wiped the blood away with the back of her head. "Dying. Same illness that took Maeve, five years ago. There was another outbreak. I don't have much longer left. A week, maybe. A little less."

"Are they sick, too? The kids?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "No. The young and the old were all vaccinated in the first outbreak. They're immune, at least to what I have. She's been coughing too, though. I don't know what she has." Another cough. "We're all dying. Earth is. Soon, you'll be all they have left. They're only seven."

He found himself approaching the children and began wrapping the flannel tighter around their small frames. He led them to the jump chair. They sat on the edge of the chair together as if frightened to relax into it, and they were both small enough that they fit. They seemed to be aware he'd caught them staring, and the boy looked away. The girl coughed again, and he patted at her back. "You don't get it," he deadpanned. "I understand your – their – situation, but I can't. I just can't."

Sakura scoffed. "You can't leave them. You're their father. My God, you haven't even asked their names."

She was right. He knew that, somewhere inside, in what was left of him. He knew when someone was going to die and had accepted their fate, and that Sakura was one of those people. She was going to die, just like Maeve had before her, and the children would be left alone on an Earth that was dying. Perhaps he could do something. Perhaps he could find someone. But who? No, these kids deserved a _life_. A life with a father in it. There wasn't anything he could give them, but he could try. And for the first time in a long time, he realized he'd been showing a care for something, for his children. And he still didn't know their names. He asked Sakura, who shook her head in disapproval before answering.

"The boy's name is Ethan. The girl's is – " She broke into a fresh fit of coughs, so the girl finished for her, speaking for the first time.

"Elodie." Her voice was small and quiet, and in it there was a trace of a child's lisp just starting to fade.

"Those are good names," he told them. "Fantastic names."

Sakura had finished coughing. She straightened herself and began to walk towards the doors. "I don't know who you are, Doctor. But I know that Maeve loved you and called you a good man. I hope she was right. Take care of them. God knows they deserve as much." Then, without turning back, she opened the doors and walked out into the cold.

The Doctor watched her go. He could have called her back, told her he could try and heal her. With the advanced medicines in the TARDIS, there had to be something he could give her. Make her better, and leave the raising of the children up to her. But he didn't. He let her walk away until the fog consumed her. He went on staring until Elodie's coughs brought him back into the world, and he quickly closed the doors and turned back to them. "Do you need anything?" he asked them. When they only stared, he took in the sight of them again. "Well, I reckon we could start with a bath."

**::**

He didn't know what this new TARDIS was like, hadn't explored her new corridors. Now, as he held in both hands the smaller ones of each seven-year-old, he discovered there was a bathroom just off to the left. Whether it had been there before or the TARDIS had just decided to place it there, he didn't know. But there was a bathtub with bubbles and soaps, and warm pajamas that would fit the children neatly folded and placed on the counter. One pair was a soft pink and covered in a print pattern of brighter pink flowers. The other pair was a soft blue and had a pattern of little sharks. It was obvious which pajama was for which child, and once, he might have shaken his head at the TARDIS for sticking to such blatant stereotypes. The Doctor prepared the bath for them while they undressed, and then he scrubbed their bodies clean, washed their dirty hair, until their small faces started to gain back a childish glow. He helped them change into the pajamas, did up the buttons and the strings. "Warm?" he asked, and was met with two matching shy nods.

Afterwards, he ran a scan in the med bay, which was now right beside the bathroom. If Sakura's words didn't prove anything, then the DNA results matched to his own did. These were his children, and now he had to take care of them whether he wanted to or not. A second scan showed that they each had only one heart, but like him, they had two livers and strong immune systems. Good. That was good. He scanned them once more, to make sure they weren't too sick, and to find out what Elodie had. Luckily, Ethan was perfectly healthy, and Elodie simply had a bad cough. Some more time in the TARDIS, where it was warm, would do her well, and it would pass eventually. The whole time he was running the scans, both children remained completely silent. They didn't fuss or squirm or giggle. It occurred to him they hadn't reacted when their aunt walked away, hadn't even said goodbye to her. Perhaps she'd told them everything. Perhaps they'd been expecting it.

After the scans, he took them both by their little hands and soon discovered a children's bedroom. The TARDIS had clearly been putting some thought into making one while he'd been bathing the twins and running the scans. There were twin cots with thick blankets covering them, and a _Scooby-Doo!_ bedspread on each of the cots. There were headboards with childish paintings of cartoon boats and planes brought to life in vibrant, exaggerated colors on the wood. The floor was covered mostly by a large round carpet, fuzzy, sunshine yellow. A small shelf in the corner held a generous scattering of toys: tiny little toy cars, dolls, various stuffed animals. Elodie's eyes widened when she saw the room, and Ethan's mouth fell open in a gape.

He invited them to choose a toy from the shelf to hold onto while they slept, and their small hands instantly sought the comfort of matching stuffed lions. He tucked them in, and as he brushed the overlong blond hair from Ethan's face, he had a sudden notion that these motions, these actions, were all too familiar to him. Tucking the children in, bathing them. He'd done all this before with his children on Gallifrey. Something about this realization made him recoil, draw back, back inside of himself. He bid the twins a hasty good night and fled the room, seeking comfort in clicking out the light and closing the door. Tightly shutting away what hurt too much.

He made his way back to the bathroom and slid away the door that covered the mirror, inspecting his new face for the first time.

This face had the look of a man of about forty years or so, probably the age a man that might have two seven-year-olds. It wasn't a face that would send women swooning, not like the face he'd had when he'd met Maeve, but overall, it wasn't bad. The body looked more muscular, broad-shouldered, than his last incarnation. Dark hair again, that was good, he'd decided that blond bodies didn't suit him a while back. The nose was a little long, but these eyes were an attractive shade of blue. Had those eyes not been so full of hollow grief, so bloodshot, they might have been called nice eyes. The ears were the real misfortune with this body, and his hands shot up in a vain attempt to flatten them. It didn't work, of course. And there was a beard that was starting to grow, proof of his lack of caring over these past countless days. He shaved off the beard and examined his reflection again. The lack of a beard helped, but he still didn't look fit to be a father. The Doctor stepped back and quickly slid the door over the mirror again.

Numbly, he began to explore this new TARDIS for the first time, but she wouldn't let him. Every turn he made, every door he opened, led him to his bedroom, which thankfully, she hadn't changed. He got the message: she didn't want him to explore, she wanted him to get some much-needed sleep. The Doctor stepped into the next room she gave him, sat on the bed, leaned his head against the wall. He could hear the children sleeping in the room next door, which hadn't been there before. The TARDIS must want him to be close to his children, then. When he poked his head out the door, he found that she'd moved the bathroom across the hall.

He could have tried to sleep, but he didn't. Instead, he remained sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly he might have ripped the fabric. Clasp, unclasp, clasp, unclasp. He stared at the blank wall opposite as his mind raced and tumbled to conclusions he'd dismiss a moment later, his thoughts like clothes in a dryer. No, what had he been thinking, he couldn't raise two seven-year-olds, his life wasn't one fit for kids. No, that was ridiculous, they were his children and he _had_ to look after them, he couldn't leave them on the steps of an orphanage somewhere, even if he traveled a hundred years or so into their past, before mankind had really destroyed the Earth, because they were _his children_. But … and et cetera, et cetera, et _bloody_ cetera.

The door to his room creaked open. He looked up.

A small figure in flannel pajamas with pink flowers on them, at her heels another little figure in pajamas with a shark pattern, were both peeking in at him. When he stared over at them, they scuttled back again, whispering to each other. "It's okay," he heard himself saying. "It's okay, come in. Here, sit here. You can't sleep?"

Ethan came in first, and after a pause, he turned to his sister, as if to confirm it was safe for her to enter. She followed him and took his hand, but her eyes never left the Doctor.

The Doctor patted a spot on his bed and stood up, and after some hesitation, the children sat down on the edge. They were still watching him.

"Hey," he said, hopefully gently. "So you can't sleep?"

Ethan spoke this time, which surprised the Doctor somewhat: he'd passed Ethan off as quieter than Elodie. She, at least, had asked a question or two, if timidly, while her brother hadn't said a word. "No. This house is weird. It whispers things. And it showed us where your room was, with lights on the floor."

"Right next to ours," Elodie put in.

He nodded, and reached over to stroke her hair. "Yep, that sounds just like her. The TARDIS, I mean. My – _our_ house now."

Elodie smiled when he said that. Then she said, very softly and tentatively, as if afraid to ruin the moment, "Daddy?"

"Don't call me that," he said, too sharply; it was too much of a connection to his first children, and Elodie recoiled. The spell had been broken. She clung to her brother and watched him from behind almost frightened blue eyes. Ethan held onto his sister and gave the Doctor a scowl, but it was no match for the look in his own eyes. They were _afraid_ of him.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Sorry. But it's okay, yeah? Here, c'mere."

The children came close again, hesitantly. "What should we call you, then?" Elodie whispered. "I just called you Daddy because you're my Daddy, Auntie said you are."

He patted her knee. "No, no. It's fine, you call me Daddy. That's right, I'm your Daddy."

Elodie didn't seem reassured, didn't let go of her brother. But she smiled slightly and gave a tiny nod of understanding. "We haven't had one of those before. A Daddy. Just Mummy at first, but mostly we've just had Auntie."

"Well, now you _do_ have a Daddy," he said levelly. "Right? And that's me, yeah?" The children nodded. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "How did you find me, by the way? You two and your Auntie? I reckon you didn't just stumble on my box."

Ethan looked to his sister, who gave him a nod. The boy spoke again. "Mummy said she saw your blue box when she met you, and after you left, she told everyone 'bout it. "And then one of Mummy's old friends was around here, and he saw it. So he went in his aeroplane to Auntie, and told her. Auntie woke us up and told us that we had to go now, to see you. She told us she'd finally found our Daddy. Then we went, and we walked for a long time, and then we saw your blue box."

"We walked for five days," Elodie put in. "Auntie said that we could stay with Mummy's friend if you weren't there. But you were." She released a short cough. The warmth of the TARDIS had helped her, already she was getting better.

The Doctor took in those small bodies. Five days. They'd been walking, looking for him, for five days. In that horrible weather, that war-torn Earth, they'd been walking, looking for him, even if he might not have been there. It was a wonder Elodie hadn't gotten sicker than suffering from a mere cough. _His_ children. His responsibility.

He didn't try to say anything this time, just nodded and got to his feet. He held out his hands, and each child took one. "Let's get you two back to bed."

When they returned to the children's room, there were fake stars on the ceiling. Not the five-pointed, cartoonish stars you bought in a shop on Earth, but a much more realistic projection of the way the stars really looked. Like the stars he used to watch as a boy himself, so many years ago. He tucked them in again, and brought them each another stuffed toy, a little monkey this time. Ethan put the animals next to him, but Elodie buried her little button nose in the synthetic fur. In a heartbeat, they were both asleep.


	2. Processes Repeated

**The Last Ones**

**::**

Author's Note: In a PM, I received a question on how to pronounce Elodie's name. In case there's any confusion, it's pronounced like _Melody_ without the _M_. I can assure you, no reference to River, Amy, and Rory intended.  
Also, please note I've finally figured out how to change Auto Correct on my computer to the UK setting, so expect minor changes in spelling from now on. Thank you.

Official Estimated Length: 17 - 20 chapters

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Chapter Two: Processes Repeated

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He slept.

Not by collapsing onto the metal grate floor, but properly, in his own room, in his own bed, with blankets tucked over his body and his head on a pillow. He didn't put on pyjamas, despite the fact that she'd left a pair for him folded on the foot of the bed when he came back from the children's room. But he took off his shirt, his jacket, tossed them carelessly onto the floor and slept in just his jeans. He hadn't bothered to turn out the lights, he hadn't even noticed they'd been on the first place, so the TARDIS turned them out for him. _Carelessly_. _Hadn't even noticed._ Words that applied to his so-called life quite a lot these days. But finally, he slept, properly.

But sleep was a torture much worse than wakefulness. In sleep, his mind was subject to nightmares. Faces from his past lives flashed before him in a rush. People who were now lost. People he'd betrayed. His granddaughter, Susan, who was just as dead as the rest of them now. His father, also dead. His children, dead. Adric. Jamie. All of them dead. And he saw his planet going up in flames as he flew away. In his dreams their screams were clear and pained, they cursed his name as they burned and died at his hands.

When he woke, he was screaming along with them, the sheets impossibly twisted as he sat bolt upright. He remained in that position, sitting up, for a long time, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and gasping like a drowning man suddenly finding his head above the water. The Doctor kicked off the blankets, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and found himself face-to-face with Elodie, who had apparently been crouching at his bedside watching him. He jumped, she crawled backwards on her haunches. She didn't say anything, didn't even seem surprised, just cocked her head to one side like a curious puppy and contemplated him from behind a pensive, blue-eyed gaze.

"You okay?" he asked her, realising he should do so. Should check on her, see how she was, take care of her, be the father she'd been denied all seven years of her life, the father she _deserved_ to have and he couldn't be.

Elodie nodded. "Yeah," she said vaguely. "I stopped coughing, I think, Daddy."

He nodded too, to fill the silence. At last he put in meaninglessly, "Oh. Er, that's good."

"Yeah," Elodie said again, looking away, her eyes wandering around the room. He realised she was tightly clutching the stuffed lion by the paw in one of her small fists. He noted the way her little finger brushed against its synthetic fur. And she was still wearing her pyjamas, which were fitting snugly against her little body.

At last, he asked her, "Where's your brother?" _Your son, Doctor. Your son_.

Her eyes flickered back over to him. "Sleeping." A giggle. "Boys sleep a lot." A pause. "Were you having bad dreams, Daddy? You were screaming." Her words were not quite said innocently; she seemed to know the answer already. Rather, she stated this almost sympathetically, the last sentence matter-of-fact. She was clever for her seven years, but that was to be expected for a child of the Doctor. His last children had been clever too. So clever, and now all that cleverness burned to uselessness along with the rest of the planet.

"Yes," he said, awkwardly. "Yes, Daddy was having bad dreams."

"I have those sometimes too," Elodie scuttled forwards again, daring to come closer, even resting her head against the mattress. "But I don't always scream." Again, her eyes found him, and bored into his soul.

"Hungry?" he asked, breaking the connection with his words and by looking away. "You must be." As she nodded, he reached for his shirt and jacket, throwing them on and standing, stretching his limbs. "C'mon, let's go to the kitchen. Get you something to eat. Bet you haven't tasted real food, eh? Just that dehydrated stuff in the packets. I think your mum told me about that when I met her."

"Real food is only for rich people," Elodie deadpanned as she followed him down a corridor and into the kitchen, which the TARDIS hadn't still moved from its previous location. She'd redecorated it, though, even since his last visit. The metal grating floor looked like it was there to stay, but there was an island counter with swivelling stools – three of them, organised in a tidy row along one side of the counter – and a bowl of fruit as the centrepiece. A new refrigerator stood in one corner, humming softly. There was a shelf filled with more brightly coloured cups and dishes. Elodie walked over to the stools, hopped onto it, and spun around by kicking off against the counter, and he leaned against the stove, watching her. At one point, she reached out and grabbed a plump orange from the fruit bowl. She was preparing to bite into it when the Doctor intervened.

"Elodie, I wouldn't eat that," he advised. "Not like that."

"How come?" asked Elodie. "How d'you eat it, then? I ate a peach like that once; it was the only time me and Ethan had real food." She stopped spinning by catching onto the counter with one foot, crossed her arms, looked up at him curiously. She cocked her head to one side again.

"Just … " the Doctor faltered. "I'll peel it for you, when your brother gets here, yeah? You two can share it while I … er … while I make you some eggs or something." When Elodie merely shrugged, he cupped the orange in his hand and half-cradled the fruit as he took it over to a nearby cutting board and set it down. He took to exploring this new kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers to find out what went where. After some navigation, he found a frying pan and a spatula and was just walking over to the fridge to get some eggs when Ethan came pattering barefoot into the room. He had one fist planted in his eye to dislodge the sleep there, and was yawning. The seven-year-old boy looked around briefly, then joined his sister at the island counter and the twins took to watching the Doctor with matching expressions of semi-curiosity, semi-expectance. The Doctor realised he'd been standing there for a good minute, with the frying pan and spatula in his hands and the refrigerator door ajar, the cold air hitting him. He found a carton of a dozen eggs amongst the various items of foodstuff and extracted it, wandered back to the stove, all the while aware of the twins' eyes on him.

_There. You're making them breakfast, like you should be. You're being a father … right?_

But he couldn't just be _a_ father. He had to be _their_ father. And it was this thought that kept on echoing in his mind, over and over again, in a loop. Just one thought. One idea. His mind was void of all other feeling but that of a need to be their father, because right now, it was what _his _children needed, but how could he be? Well, he just had to. But how? Just the one sentiment, over and over and over again.

The Doctor heard a sizzling, and realised the eggs in the pan needed tending to. He'd never been much of a cook, the last time he'd tried cooking something he'd been in his seventh body and it had been for Mel, who'd informed him that fried lettuce was not a recipe especially popular amongst humans. (Something that had confused him at the time, he'd fried lettuce for himself before and liked it just fine). Sometimes the TARDIS would cook for him, but he'd observed that a majority of his companions liked to cook themselves. And mostly they ate exotic foods from other planets anyway. Now, he poked hopefully at the eggs for a while until he decided they might be ready and scraped them off onto a plate. The eggs didn't look quite right to him, a sorry heap of brownish white (had he burned them?) and yellow. Nothing like the scrambled eggs he'd eaten on Earth. But he fetched two glasses and another plate, and scraped half of the eggs onto it, produced two forks, and poured some chocolate milk from the fridge into the glasses. He peeled the orange and ripped it carefully in half, placing the slices next to the eggs, which to his dismay, he discovered were terribly runny. But the children were still watching him and Ethan's stomach was growling, so he presented them each with their food and the chocolate milk before dropping onto the unoccupied stool next to Ethan.

"There you go," he said, trying for what he hoped was a smile. "Eggs and chocolate milk and that orange you wanted to try, Elodie."

Ethan poked at the eggs sceptically with the end of his fork, then looked up with a grimace. "Eggs?" he asked, and when the Doctor merely nodded, the boy slid his eyes over to study his sister, who as it happened was also busy studying her meal with her utensil. The twins met each other's gaze, and then, after a silent agreement having taken place between the two young siblings, they both took a deep breath and ate together.

They didn't seem to be forcing the eggs down, but they didn't quite wolf them down either, not the way they later ripped into the orange and gulped down the milk. These bites were those of hungry children, practically shovelling the food down their throats and not taking pauses for air. But it was only an orange, and it was gone too quickly.

When their plates were clean and their glasses emptied of every last drop, the children looked up at him simultaneously. The Doctor expected them to ask for more, but instead Elodie asked, "What now, Daddy?"

They were still expecting this of him. They didn't understand. All they knew was that this was their Daddy and now they were waiting for him. The Doctor cleared his throat. "I dunno. We could go to the park, if you want. The swimming pool. Or you could explore the TARDIS – that's what this place is called, by the way – some more."

Ethan perked up. "The park? Where? _When_?" He copied the cocking of the head to one side motion of his sister.

So their mother, Maeve, must have told them a thing or two about Daddy's house. She must have done, or must have told her sister, (for the twins would have been only two when Maeve died and surely remembered very little of her) and their Auntie Sakura must have explained what she could about the TARDIS to the children. They didn't seem disoriented by the fact that this home could not fit inside of that battered blue police box, and they adjusted well to her whisperings. Last night he'd assumed they'd expected that the TARDIS was "bigger on the inside", but now he was starting to question just how much they knew. _When_, Ethan had asked. So he knew that this home of his could travel through time. Or he seemed to know. Regardless of his inner musings, the Doctor tried to answer.

"Er," he answered, awkwardly. "Well, London, I reckon, since it's your hometown. As for when, well, maybe in the … the late … twentieth century?" He paused to see if the children seemed confused, but if they were they didn't show it. Ethan's lips were pressed together as he listened, and Elodie had taken to resting her chin in her hand while watching him patiently. It struck him that it was something Maeve had done quite often in the numbered days he'd known her. So he went on, "1990's. Fantastic playgrounds for kids then." Again, he studied their little faces for a reaction, or a glimmer of confusion, but there was nothing.

So the Doctor took their little hands and led them first to their bedrooms to get them dressed. The TARDIS had left a fine selection of children's clothing in the wardrobe, and soon Elodie was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a light blue T-shirt, Ethan a similar pair of jeans and a mock football jersey. They also had on shoes now, matching pairs of black suede trainers with Velcro. They looked up at him once they dressed, seemed to be searching his approval in the outfits, but all he could do was offer a curt nod before they made their way to the console room. There he directed them to the jump chair. They curled up on its cushioning together, Elodie leaning her head against her brother's shoulder while he leaned forward eagerly. The Doctor stroked the console once, then turned to his children and grinned. It was a grin that was phoney: too wide, his eyes showing just a bit _too_ much excitement, but it was probably more convincing than the ones he'd been pulling before. This grin felt _right_, somehow. "Ready?"

Two synchronized nods.

"Right then," he said, turning to the console and leaning against it. He pulled at a lever, and for the first time, the TARDIS didn't stay put and instead let out her token whirring. He pushed a button, fumbled around with some controls, and they were off, whizzing through the vortex. Inside, the ship rumbled, shook violently and sparks flew from the console, as was wont. The Doctor stumbled, caught himself on one arm of the jump chair. The twins clung to each other tightly with wide, excited eyes, simultaneously thrilled and frightened by this experience.

The TARDIS had landed them in a back alleyway, according to one of the display screens, hopefully safe from any curious humans who might try to force its doors open while they were at the playground a block away. It was apparently May 1996. "A fantastic year," he muttered to himself before turning to the kids. "All right. Ready?" The twins nodded – they still weren't speaking very much. They hopped down from the jump chair and each took one of his hands. Despite the fact that they were quiet children, neither twin could contain their excitement, as was common with seven-year-olds. Ethan was grinning, his eyes shining, and Elodie was all but bouncing up and down on her heels when he dropped their hands and pushed open the doors to the TARDIS with a "Behold!"

The Doctor stepped outside the TARDIS and closed his eyes. The breeze was brushing his face just so, but the sun made his back warm through the leather of his jacket. Beneath his feet there was pavement, not metal grating or tiles. How long had it been since he'd left his box? How much time had he spent holing up inside the TARDIS' console room?

He didn't know.

What he did know was, as he now realised, that he'd missed the feeling of the wind, the sun. He needed that. The sun, shining brightly and blessing the people down below with its warm rays, that brilliant burning ball of flame and gas, seemed a false promise of hope. As he squinted up at it, he felt, to his astonishment, the slightest trace of a smile taking control of his lips. Just a ghost, a whisper, but there all the same. And not a forced grin, but a _real_ smile. Yes, this was what he needed, what his kids needed.

Elodie had taken hold of his hand, and he glanced down at her. She was looking up at his meekly. "Daddy?" she asked. "What is it?"

He'd been blocking the doors. He took a firmer grip on her hand and reached back for Ethan's, and after some hesitation, the young boy took it. The Doctor shouldered the TARDIS doors shut and the threesome began to walk towards the playground. As soon as they stepped out of the alleyway, however, and onto the street, the children stopped dead in their tracks and began to gape.

Elodie and Ethan, after all, came from the far future of 2179, and the London they knew was quite different than this one. Their world was a dying one of bitter weather conditions, sometimes acid rain that left them inside with cloths over their mouths, of buildings caving in on themselves, of grey landscapes and hollow shells of people on the streets. The twins knew what it was to be hungry, for sometimes even the packaged food was hard to come by. They knew what it was to feel cold. The so-called home they'd had was a decrepit room in an equally decrepit old house with a bed they'd shared with Auntie Sakura – whose mattress always creaked during the night and didn't comfortably fit the three of them – and a rickety table, three wobbly chairs shoved in one corner. There was only one working loo, and lots of people in the house to share it with. Sometimes some of the people in the house would die of the illness, and men would come to haul the body away, covering it in a white sheet as they carried it out on a stretcher. The TARDIS had been fantastic enough, but they'd been expecting that, had imagined the blue box home of the father they didn't know for years. They hadn't been expecting this.

The sun was bright, the weather fine and warm. Several of the buildings were tall and touched the surprisingly blue sky, and the smaller ones were very posh, with neat little stairways that had handrails leading up to doors that weren't hanging on their hinges and teeming with termites. The path they walked on was not overgrown with weeds, but firm, solid concrete. The people all seemed very happy to Elodie and Ethan, walking with dogs on leashes and talking merrily amongst themselves. Children ran around and played in the streets. There had never been any children to play with in the house back in their world. Cars crawled along the streets, bright, shiny, new. The twins had seen cars before, but only the very rich or the men who came to take bodies away had them, and those had been rusty and scratched, beaten-up, had dented bonnets, sometimes missing doors, even the ones belonging to the wealthy.

The Doctor observed his children for a moment, the way they took in their surroundings with wide eyes and open mouths. He let go of Elodie's hand and patted her head. "I know," he said softly, "It's a lot to take in. Brilliant, really. All of it."

Elodie surprised him by answering this time. "I've never seen anything so beautiful before, Daddy. Not even our house."

He turned to Ethan, who was nodding in agreement. Then the Doctor gave his own short nod, took Elodie's hand again, and they resumed walking. They took a steady pace, because the twins wanted to see everything there was to see. And _everything_ included things even he'd eventually passed off as everyday in his frequent visits to Earth: fire hydrants, bicycle racks. A middle-aged woman with a dog and her teenage daughter gave them strange looks as the twins questioned him about a telephone pole. "Er," he said, "we're from the North," and hurried on. As he said the words, it occurred to him that it was quite an impressive lie, for he realised this body did indeed have a Northern accent. Yet another thing he'd never noticed before.

Eventually, they reached the park, and quite a nice park it was too. Surrounded by a low wrought-iron fence, it took up two blocks. One block was made up of nothing but green space and paths crisscrossing the grass, benches placed generously along said paths. The other block had a small bubbling fountain, and a small football field where some young boys kicked a ball around, but was taken up mostly by a large playground, complete with climbing equipment, a sandpit, a roundabout, a seesaw, and a large swing set.

The twins were in awe, but after some hesitation, they let go of their father's hands and bolted for the climbing equipment, laughing and shouting. The Doctor settled down onto a bench and watched them. Despite Elodie's cough from just the night before (which she seemed to have recovered from anyway) the twins were both agile and quick. He watched as they swung on the monkey bars and shimmied up ladders before slipping easily down twisting slides of brightly coloured plastic. He wondered briefly how they knew to play properly with such equipment, having never visited a playground before themselves. But either way, they were enjoying themselves. At one point, Ethan ran for a tire swing and seemed to know how to pump himself easily. Elodie watched him from her perch atop a jungle gym, before scuttling down and running over to the Doctor.

The seven-year-old tugged at his sleeve. "Daddy?" she asked, looking downwards. "Daddy?" She shuffled her feet, seemingly embarrassed about something.

"Yes?" he asked. Hoping he sounded gentle and loving but unsure.

She came closer to him, cupped her hand around one of those ridiculous ears of this body, and whispered, "Daddy, am I too big to be pushed?" Elodie leaned back and contemplated him hopefully, biting her lip. She looked almost afraid that he might scold her for her inquiry, but he tried for that grin of his again.

"'Course not," he said, standing, offering his hand. "C'mon." Elodie took it, and together they walked over to the swing set.

Her brother had abandoned his tire swing and was spinning on the roundabout, and his swing had already been claimed by another little boy. The tire swing, it seemed, was in high demand, for a brown-haired young girl a bit older than Elodie loitered about nearby impatiently. But Elodie didn't seem to care either way. She pulled herself into a regular swing and her small hands held on tightly to the chains. "Push me!," she begged, starting to wiggle about in the swing's rubber seat in excitement.

The Doctor took a deep breath. Yes, this was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it? This was what fathers did. It had been a long time since his children were seven years old, and as they'd grown up and eventually graduated from the Academy he wished he could go through fatherhood again. Now, he wished he didn't have to, couldn't bring himself to. Fatherhood was too painful. He was doing this for them because he _had_ to, not because it was what he wanted. For a fleeting moment, he found himself wondering if he even loved these second children. He'd taken them in out of guilt. The moment the thought entered his mind he dismissed it. He hadn't asked to have kids again, but of course he loved them. They were his children. Of _course_ he loved them, no matter what the circumstances for his now raising them were. Didn't he?

"Daddy! Push me!" Elodie was saying, snapping him from his reverie. The Doctor shook his head and nodded, hastily apologised. He pressed his hands against the seat of the swing and gave her a firm push. Another. He repeated the process over and over, and she was giggling, laughing, as she swung higher and higher, as her feet touched the sky.


	3. Unexpected Hope

**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: Sorry this one's a little shorter than the past couple chapters have been.  
An aside: A certain scene in this chapter is inspired by a beautiful piece of fanart, called _Distress Signal_, by a friend of mine on deviantART, *JohannesVIII, and is used with permission, something which I am most grateful for. It can be found on her profile page or in her gallery.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Three: Unexpected Hope

* * *

The Doctor was exhausted.

Thoroughly, properly exhausted. After pushing Elodie on the swings until his arms grew sore, the children had insisted on spending another full hour in the park until even they grew tired. Still they wanted to explore and walk around London some more. He agreed, for they did have every right to, but now his legs were tired, and the Doctor was trying his patience. The twins wanted to point out every single little thing they passed, sometimes dragged him over to get a closer look. By the time they wanted to go back to the TARDIS, the Doctor was on the verge of collapsing in the street.

He had no intention of trying to cook again today, so he decided to keep the TARDIS here for a few days, take the kids out for some fish and chips. If they'd liked the orange, wait until they tried the deliciously greasy English snack food. Now, though, he thought he'd give them some time to rest. The twins had violently protested to the idea of a nap ("Naps are for babies!") but they were sporting in the name of relaxing about for a few hours. The Doctor had just relaxed into the jump chair when the twins burst into the console room from the corridors, shirtless and laughing. Somehow Ethan had gotten his hands on a plastic water gun and was gleefully shooting Elodie with it, who shrieked and held up her stuffed lion as a shield. He pounced on her, casting the water gun aside, and she laughed while trying to wriggle out of his grip. A moment's struggle and she was free, diving onto the water gun and pointing it at her brother, her eyes twinkling. "Put your hands in the air! You're under arrest!" she proclaimed, her own childish mimic of the deep, growly voice of a man.

Ethan bolted, and she chased him. They ran in circles, shouting. After a few minutes, the Doctor felt an impending headache. Still, he let it go. But when Elodie shot her water gun at Ethan, missed, and hit the console instead, sparks flew from the metal and the entire TARDIS shook. The little girl paid this no mind, went on running. Perhaps if she'd apologised he would have said nothing. But Elodie didn't seem even to notice as she went on running and laughing. Sparks were still bursting from the TARDIS' console. The TARDIS, all he had left, his last link to his home planet. The Doctor could take it no more, and spoke up. "_Oi_!"

The children froze in place, their heads swivelling to look at him and their eyes wide. Elodie put down the water gun. "We were just playing," the seven-year-old girl uttered in a small voice. "Just — "

"Whatever you were doing, you might've damaged the TARDIS. Look at her! And you two, just running around carelessly … what's the matter with you? And why the hell aren't you wearing your shirts?" he snapped. The words poured out of him angrily, harshly, and he didn't realise it. "Just go and play quietly in your rooms or something."

Elodie turned away, pressing her lips together, tearful. She backed away from the Doctor and sought Ethan's comfort. Her brother wrapped his arms around his sister protectively, but he looked just as frightened and startled as she did. Ethan had always felt a need to protect his sister, though they were the same age, using the defense that he was the taller of the two siblings. But there was no hiding the hurt expression on his face. And taller though he might be, he was still a little boy.

It took the Doctor a moment to realise what he'd done, that he'd hurt them. His children were still watching him with wide eyes, not letting go of each other for a moment. He understood they were still afraid of him. Somehow, it was this thought that caused him to soften. The Doctor knew what it was to be feared. Many alien races feared him. But he had never thought he would be feared by humans, and certainly not children. Certainly not his _own_ children. He took in the sight of them , the twins, _his_ twins, gripping each other tightly, and winced.

"Hey," he said, trying to soften his voice. He slid out of the jump chair and bent down to their height. "Hey. Sorry. I shouldn't've gotten cross like that. Er, that was wrong of me … it's okay. C'mon here ... " The Doctor reached for them, but they didn't come. They just stayed there, though slowly and hesitantly they released each other and stood watching him, wary looks still in their eyes.

The Doctor sighed. He stood up and stated awkwardly, "I'm gonna go and have a bath or something, I haven't in a few days, okay? You two can keep playing if you want. The TARDIS will be okay." The twins were still looking at him, but Ethan slowly nodded. The Doctor tried for that forced grin again, then hurried from the room, taking the steps down to the corridors two at a time. He could feel the children's eyes on him as he walked away, even when he ducked into the bathroom.

She'd redecorated in the hours they'd been out. The floor and walls were now made up on new tiles, these ones an ivory green. They were also etched in Gallifreyan symbols – mostly the names of planets and alien races, but it was another link to home, a language he thought he'd never see again, and the Doctor's fingers brushed against the characters, almost hesitantly, as if afraid they might disappear. A small plastic cup by the sink now held two brightly coloured, child-size toothbrushes and a tube of mint toothpaste. There was also a shower stall now instead of a bathtub. Good, he'd never been as fond of baths as he was of showers.

The Doctor undressed, stepped into the shower, and turned the water to an ice-cold temperature. He did not use soap or wash his body, just stood there with his eyes closed as the icy water hit his body with enough force to keep him alert. Only when he could scarcely stand the cold did he change the water, now to a scalding temperature. As it hit his body and ran in streams down his back, he could feel it burning, but he remained there, uncaring. After a while, the water changed in calefaction to something more comfortable, something he could not torture himself with, and this time he remained under the warm, not boiling, water for a while. When he finally turned it off and stepped out, it struck him he'd forgotten to find himself a towel. The Doctor dug through the cupboard under the sink and eventually found one for himself folded and placed underneath a large bucket filled with cleaning rags towards the back of the cupboard. He dried off and changed into the same clothes, though she'd left him a new shirt, this one a thermal dark green top with long sleeves. Once dressed, he sat and rested his head against the wall. "Thanks, old girl," he breathed out. "For everything."

When he exited the bathroom he could still hear the children laughing. This time he was glad of the noise, realised he needed it. In those countless, horrible days he'd spent alone, there'd only been silence, nothing more than silence to keep him company. No longer any sense of his people's presence in his head, that psychic he'd gotten used to in his nine hundred years. Just an emptiness. Now, at least, there was something, even the faintest buzzing sense of his children in his head.

A long time ago, when he'd travelled with his friends, companions, their presence another warm part of him residing in his memories. He'd lost them too, in all sorts of painful ways. And eventually, he'd told himself it was best he travel alone so he wouldn't hurt anyone else. He had taken in his children was because they needed him, and they were his _children_, for no other reason than that. And right now, he was glad he had them, both physically and in his mind. He was quickly starting to get attached to them, he realised with alarm, despite his best efforts not to allow himself to become anchored to any_one_ or any_thing_, because in the end, someone got hurt. But his children were not like his companions, because he would raise them right here in the TARDIS, hell, maybe even keep her parked here in this very alleyway, where they'd always be safe. He would no longer visit other worlds and protect those alien planets, because he'd caused enough damage, was terrified of doing so again. Those worlds would be better off without him, didn't deserve him, and _he_ didn't deserve _them_.

Of course, his children didn't deserve him either. But at least he could try.

He climbed up the steps and entered the console room. The children, who'd put their shirts back on at some point, stopped their playing and looked at him a moment, watching his every movement. When he simply settled down in the jump chair and smiled, Ethan began to return to his play. Elodie, however, approached the Doctor. She climbed into his lap, put her arms around his neck, and rested her little head against his broad shoulder. His breath caught and carefully, his hand reached for her head, stroked her hair. The little girl said nothing, just remained there with her head against his shoulder as he stroked her blonde locks. Ethan joined in on this moment of bonding, sitting at the Doctor's feet and resting his head against his knees, and the Doctor stroked his son's hair with his other hand. The little family — though he wondered if, with this twisted and broken relationship only just starting to develop, they could really call themselves that — remained that way for a while.

**::**

The moment was interrupted by Elodie sitting up at last, squirming and tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. His eyes slid in her direction, that little face with the blue eyes and scraggly blonde hair. For a moment, he could see how she took after him — his fifth body, anyway. "Can we get something to eat now?" she was asking, head cocked to one side.

"It's been a while since we ate," Ethan put in, nodding. "And you didn't have anything at all."

"Okay. Yeah. Sure." The Doctor's words were straining to sound gentle and reassuring, the way a father's might. The way a father's _should_. He motioned for Elodie to climb from his lap, and she scuttled off with a small smile. Her brother crawled back as well, as if to give the Doctor much-needed room.

The Doctor got to his feet and fumbled around in the pockets of his leather jacket in the hopes of finding some money. He'd not put anything in the pockets himself of course, but the clothing in the TARDIS usually tended to be well stocked with all sorts of knick-knacks. Many of them were useful, others not. Indeed, as he dug through the many jacket pockets (and the twins looked on curiously) he found some takeout bags from a Prêt a Manger in London (had he worn this jacket before and forgotten?), the remote control for a Wii, a little plastic bag filled with seeds for a rare plant from the planet Sto, omnifarious coins and notes for various planet's currencies (including, thankfully, from Earth), and to his surprised delight, a new sonic screwdriver. He'd broken the other one after the war, by banging it repeatedly against the console in a fit of rage, and until now the TARDIS hadn't bothered replacing it. He felt the rare tiniest pull of a smile on his lips; he'd missed the old thing.

He turned to the children. "Ready?" The words weren't as forced this time as they had been last time he'd said them.

Elodie nodded seriously. "Yes." Ethan nodded too, so the Doctor pushed open the doors to the TARDIS and they stepped outside.

Evening had fallen since they'd been in the park, and the sky was tinted with the light purples and oranges of twilight, pastel shades blended together in the sky like a watercolour painting. The city was cast in an illusion of promises and hope, that tomorrow would be kind, all of it illuminated by a setting sun.

They got their dinner at a fish and chips shop called Poppies, on Hanbury Street, and ate on a park bench not far away. And the children were delighted with it all. The orange had been one thing, but they'd never tasted anything like deep-fried halibut, like crispy and warm chips. The Doctor watched, bemused, as they devoured the food, little fingers covered in grease. When they finished and were wiping the oil off on their pants legs, Elodie noticed that the Doctor had left his food untouched in his lap, still wrapped in paper and warm. "Aren't you hungry, Daddy?" Against her own will, her stomach growled. _She_ was still hungry.

The Doctor shook his head. "Nah. Not really. You two can have mine if you like."

Elodie hesitated briefly, wondering which would win: her hunger or her compassion. In the end, she shook her head no. "We already ate something though." She nodded at the food. "You should have something too."

It had been a long time since he'd eaten. He wasn't hungry, never was anymore, but he knew he needed something. But the children were hungry too, and they'd never had this kind of food before. Didn't they deserve more, after all they'd been through? The Doctor hesitated, then looked at Elodie's serious expression, seriousness not found in the eyes of a seven-year-old, and Ethan wore the same expression. He was sceptical, but after a moment, the Doctor nodded. He unwrapped his food, and for the first time in forever, he ate.

And it was fantastic.

**::**

Later, when the Doctor was putting the children to bed back in the TARDIS, it occurred to him. He'd forced the kids to brush their teeth and to put on their pyjamas, and now he was tucking them into bed in the room the TARDIS had made, her soft humming a soundtrack in the background.

"Sorry I keep getting cross with you two," he said slowly. "It's just … well, let's say sometimes I get cross without meaning to. You don't deserve it."

Elodie shrugged. "It's okay, Daddy," she said, not meeting his gaze. She still blamed him, he could tell. She did not elaborate further, just laid down and tucked the blankets around her small frame herself.

Ethan, who'd already been tucked in, sat up from the bed opposite and eyed his father and sleeping sister cautiously before nodding in agreement to Elodie's statement. "Yeah, it's okay," he echoed. The young boy drew his knees to his chest, rested his chin there. "Auntie Sakura used to get cross too, sometimes. I think she was sad after Mummy died." A beat. "Did someone you loved die, too, Daddy?"

The Doctor's breath caught. "What makes you say that?"

Ethan's reply was simple, but mumbled sleepily as he rubbed at his eyes and lay back down. "You seem so sad." The little boy yawned, then rolled over and tucked the stuffed lion under his arm.

The Doctor moved from Elodie's bed to Ethan's and started to tuck the blankets around his seven-year-old son, but the little boy squirmed away and held the sheets tightly in one fist. Ethan mumbled something, the Doctor didn't catch the words, but perhaps he didn't want to know. He was grateful when his son stopped murmuring into the pillow and eventually fell asleep, his nose buried in the lion's fur and one small hand still gripping the sheets tightly. The Doctor stroked his overlong blond hair; Ethan twitched but didn't wake. Eventually, the weary traveller got to his feet and exited the room, clicking the light out behind him and shutting the door.

He wasn't tired yet, didn't want to go to sleep. Besides, he only needed an hour's sleep a night, and while he wasn't sure how many hours he'd slept the night before, it was certainly well over one. He'd needed it of course, but now he decided to do something he'd not done in a long time, and that was try to fix the TARDIS. While he hadn't brought it up, her console was still bursting with the occasional spark.

The Doctor whipped his sonic screwdriver from his jacket's pocket and bent down by the console, sticking his head underneath. He could have removed a portion of the metal grating floor and tinkered with the jumble of wires underneath, but he couldn't be bothered to, and besides, the problem was with the console, that was all. He'd been fumbling for a while when he heard a voice coming from behind him. "Daddy? What're you doing?"

It was Elodie, standing there barefoot and in her pyjamas, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. The seven-year-old hesitated a moment, then approached her father and crouched down next to him. "Is something wrong with it? Is it 'cause of me and Ethan and the water gun?"

The Doctor wasn't sure whether to answer honestly or not, but in the end, he chose to lie. He didn't want her to feel guilty, even though he was still privately irked about it, so he lied. "What, this? Nah, 'course it's not about that. It's just, the TARDIS can be a little fussy sometimes. It's nothing." He smiled at her, and this time, it felt real.

Elodie looked relieved. She sat down in the jump chair, and without her brother sharing it with her, the seat dwarfed her little seven-year-old body. The pyjamas and the stuffed toy snuggled close to her chest only added to the image. She curled up against the back of the chair. "I'm really happy we found you, Daddy," she said, words still thick with sleep. "Really happy." She was smiling into her stuffed lion.

The Doctor, who'd returned to his tinkering, looked up and gave her yet another smile. "Y'know, I'm happy too."

Elodie nodded. "When Auntie Sakura started to get really sick, she almost sent out a distress signal. But then we found out about you. I'm glad she didn't send out that distress signal."

Her words made his hearts skip a beat. Something that hadn't occurred to him before began to form in his mind, hope began to blossom in his chest. The Doctor shot to his feet, hitting his head on the console as he went. He grinned, a real one this time. "Elodie! Yes! That's a fan_tas_tic idea!"

His daughter seemed perplexed. "What is?"

"A distress signal, of course!" The Doctor picked Elodie up by her underarms and spinning her around in a circle in a moment of euphoria.

The startled child let out an exclamation that mounted into a laugh as he spun her around again, and again, until at last she had to shriek out between giggles, "Daddy, stop, I'm dizzy! Daddy!"

He spun her round once more before setting her down. "Oh, Elodie," he said, though the words were spoken more to himself than to his daughter. "You little genius. Now, let's get you back to bed, yeah? Daddy has some business to take care of." Elodie began to protest, but he ushered her off by swatting lightly at her back and leading her by the shoulders to her bedroom, where he hastily tucked her in and kissed her forehead before dashing out into the corridor and checking several rooms. Eventually, he found a crate full of distress signals, blank and ready to be used.

A distress signal. Such a simple little thing. The key to any hopes of salvation he might have. His hands held the small box gingerly as he hurried to the console room. Setting the box back down again, and recorded his message: "If you are receiving this message," he said, his voice trembling with excitement, "please make yourself known. I am the Doctor and I am looking for survivors of the Last Great Time War."

After saying the words, he replayed it time and time again. When at last he was ready, the Doctor flew the TARDIS up into space, where he opened the doors and sent the distress signal out and among the stars. It floated away from him, that tiny beacon of hope, growing smaller and smaller until it couldn't be seen at all.


	4. These Are the Shadows of the Past

**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: I apologise in advance if the details of the experience of the London Eye are inaccurate. I have only had the privilege of visiting London once, and my family and I never wound up riding the Eye because the queues were so long, hours of waiting in the heat, so we never went. I've done my best to imagine how things might work. Thank you.

I'm also considering starting a little "Review Question" thing going, just put your answer in your review if you like, and I'll be happy to start a conversation about it, because God knows I love having ridiculously in-depth discussions with people about _Doctor Who_. If nobody responds to the prompts, sure, I'll drop it, but I'd like to see where this goes, just for fun. This chapter's review question is: **Who are your favourite and second-favourite Doctors and why?**

* * *

Chapter Four: These Are the Shadows of the Past

* * *

The Doctor didn't sleep. Not that night, though he should have gotten at least half an hour. After returning the TARDIS to the same alleyway in 1996, (he wasn't sure he'd landed in the same month, but no matter), he spent the night periodically circling the console, pacing in the corridor outside the children's room, or sometimes just wandering about to find what else was in this new TARDIS.

He discovered the swimming pool where it had always been, but the library had moved. Finding it from the console room was like wandering through a labyrinth, even for him. At some point it dawned on him that the TARDIS just felt like having some fun with him, perhaps while he still felt the tiniest shred of happiness and hope, but he didn't give up. From the console room he went down one corridor, a right, a sharp left, another right, five doors and then a left, up six flights of stairs, a turn to the left, down four flights of another set of stairs, through the pool room again, and maybe a half hour later he finally found the library right back where he'd started, across the corridor from the children's room. The library was full of all kinds of books, which he'd gathered from all the planets he'd visited over the past seven hundred years or so. He'd read them all at least once, but kept each one because his companions often wanted a good read from their future, and he could never throw a book away anyhow … not even the terrible ones.

By the time the Doctor had returned from his search for the library, he could hear voices coming from the children's room. They were awake. The twins were conferring in hushed whispers, and though he couldn't make out the words even with his sharp hearing (and even with these bloody _ridiculous_ ears) he could gather that they were talking on the far end of the room from the door, as if they feared that he'd overhear them. The Doctor lingered there a moment, then entered the kitchen for a proper look at what they had available.

Yesterday the kitchen had been well-stocked with food. But now, he discovered, the fridge and cupboards were all but empty, save for a small cup of vanilla yoghurt and a banana long since gone brown. The Doctor sighed; he knew what the TARDIS was doing. She wanted him to go out and face the world some more, to either get breakfast at a restaurant or buy groceries. And when he looked around properly, he saw that she'd left a stack of five-pound notes on the island counter. These he shoved into the inside pocket of his jacket as he made his way back to the children's room. They were still whispering, so he went to the console room and sat in the jump chair and crossed his arms. He allowed his mind to go fully blank but for that feeling of hope still so very alive in his chest.

Because of course there must be other survivors. There _must_ be. Gallifrey was an entire planet, after all. And not everyone had been there during the war … right? Well, actually, he knew that not to be true; every single Time Lord had been there … but that was beside the point. Maybe there'd been others like him who'd run. And those clever little distress signals would find any of those potential survivors, and he'd be whole again, that silent emptiness in his mind filled. He wondered, briefly, what he would do with the twins when he found those survivors who must be out there, somewhere, somewhen. But then he cursed himself for thinking about it, because the answer should have been obvious: he'd go on raising them, of course.

But once he found those survivors, he'd feel ready to be their father, finally.

He sat there, brooding, for a long while. At some point, he could hear the children. Not whispering of course, for there was no way he'd be able to hear them in the console room. They were now laughing and shouting again, jumping around in their room, and, by the sounds of it, having a pillow fight.

The twins emerged after what might have been an hour. They were still giggling with each other as they clambered up the steps from the side corridor to the console room. Although they both had new trainers now, they went without them, and he wondered how the metal grating of the floor must feel under their bare feet. Elodie was running a plastic red comb through her tangled blond locks; the TARDIS must have left one for her on the night table. They were both still wearing their pyjamas.

When they saw him, sitting there in the jump chair with his arms folded over his chest, the twins seemed at a loss of what to do. He realised that he seemed to be sulking, or cross about something, and he quickly unfolded them, clasped his hands together and held them in his lap. The twins hesitated, then inched over to him and stood on either side of the jump chair.

"Hey," he said, grinning. It felt like the most genuine grin yet. "You two hungry? Let's go get some breakfast. Not here … er, Daddy's not the best cook … we'll go out into the city. Do something fun there for the day. How's that sound?"

Elodie's eyes flicked over to her brother, to the Doctor's, then back again. After what seemed to be some consideration and a silent conversation using only eye contact with Ethan, she nodded. "Okay." It was becoming more and more evident that she was the more talkative of the two. She paused, then added a question: "But Daddy, what were you so happy about last night?"

He got to his feet, and ruffled her hair. Then he ruffled Ethan's. "Something very important to me," he said. "You wouldn't understand though, but … just know it's something that made Daddy very happy, and that's all." He gave Elodie a teasing little swat over the head. "Go on and get dressed, you two. Actually, wait – hold on." He held up a finger and checked the monitors revealing their location. He had indeed missed by a bit. They were still in the same alleyway, but it was now February 2003. A Thursday. A long ways off from the summery weather of 1996. So maybe he'd missed by more than a little bit.

Not that it mattered much, but without looking away from the monitors he added, "Dress warm." As he spoke, the twins turned and disappeared back down the steps and into their room.

Once they were gone, the Doctor found himself wondering if they even knew how to dress warmly at all, in coats and boots. With the life they'd lived, he somehow doubted that, in the wintertime, they'd have had anything more than shawls to keep them warm. After all, look at the way they'd come dressed when they'd first popped up just a day ago: in worn, oversized clothing, dirty faces, bare feet. They almost certainly wouldn't know how to zip a zipper or to lace up their boots. He considered going in to help them put on the jackets that the TARDIS would be sure to leave in their wardrobes, but just as he was about to make his way to their room, they emerged once again. They had their boots on, and hats on their heads, and were wearing their coats, but were both struggling with the zippers. He helped them here, and then took their hands and, after patting his own jacket pocket to be sure he still had the money and his sonic screwdriver, they left the TARDIS and went out into the street.

Winters in London were not known to be especially harsh, but rather, had a reputation for being mild. In fact, London was known to have mild weather all year round, even if it was wet. And the twins had both suffered through colder winters before, in their London of the 22nd century, wearing fewer layers than this. But it had been so warm and pleasant yesterday that the chill caught them both by surprise. Ethan looked up at his father and asked a question of him: "Why's it so cold? It was so nice out yesterday." The little boy seemed thoroughly perplexed, and when he looked up at the Doctor and realised that _he_ was only wearing that same leather jacket, the look of confusion on his little face deepened. "And aren't _you_ cold?"

"Nah," the Doctor replied casually. "I don't get cold. Now come on, let's get some nice, _warm_ breakfast." He began walking, and Ethan, who was still holding his hand, stumbled a moment before catching up with his father's quicker stride.

This made Elodie giggle, and, from the Doctor's other side, she stuck her tongue out at her brother. "Clumsy."

"No, you're clumsy!" Ethan shot back, rather heatedly.

"No, you are!"

"Oi! No fightin'!" the Doctor admonished them both, and they fell silent and looked away. He wondered if he'd been too harsh with them again, but then he saw that the twins were still sticking their tongues out at each other, making faces, and he relaxed. He hadn't scared or startled them, at least not this time. Maybe he was getting the hang of this.

It had been a long time since the Doctor had had children of his own. Mostly, what he remembered now was that raising them hadn't been nearly this difficult, but he'd been so much happier, so much _younger_, then. His memories of the earliest years of his granddaughter Susan were clearer still, probably because he'd taken her with him in his travels, when he first stole this TARDIS. Most TARDISes would lock their own doors and disallow themselves to be taken, but this one had been broken and had taken a liking to him. But then he shut his brain off from the memories. Too painful. And now he had new children to look after, and that was what mattered.

They found a place for breakfast, a few blocks from the park that they'd played in the day before – in their timeline, anyway. A deli, mostly empty. Probably because it was cold out, and it was past normal breakfast hours on a weekday. They took a big booth to themselves near the kitchen, and the twins marvelled at how soft the vinyl cushions of the seat were, at the sparkling of the glasses, and how much _food_ there was to offer on the menus. They didn't know how to read, but even if they'd been able to they probably wouldn't know what half the items were, so he picked out some food he reckoned they'd like for them instead.

Their order was taken by a plump blonde waitress in her early thirties. When she spoke, it was with a thick Common accent. "So, what can I get for ya, mates?" She smiled at the kids, who ducked their heads shyly, making her chuckle.

The Doctor ordered both of them a bagel with a side of chips, and a hot chocolate. For himself, he ordered only a tea. The waitress jotted all of this down, but before leaving for the kitchen, she added, "They're sweet, those kids. What're their names?" When he answered – Elodie and Ethan, she went on. "And they're what, six? Seven?" Seven, he told her shortly, and she chuckled. "Seven … I remember that. Me own kid, Alfie, he's all grown up now; he's sixteen. He wants t' go to Oxford, like I wanted to when I was 'is age. Good on 'im too. But seven … Easy years, eh?" When the Doctor only gave her a curt nod, she seemed to realise he was in no mood for conversation and left.

It was only when she was gone that he realised if she had a son who was sixteen, she must have been a kid herself when she'd had him. Probably just sixteen herself. And now here she was, a young mother who'd wanted to go to Oxford, but was stuck working in a deli and probably on a low wage.

Not ten minutes later, the waitress came with their food and a receipt. "Nofink else?" she asked, all friendly smiles. When the Doctor shook his head, she handed him the receipt and left again. As the children ate their bagels and wondered at how delicious they tasted, all smothered in butter, the Doctor picked up the bill. ₤6. He put the requested amount on the table, then left an extra two pounds as a tip.

It was, perhaps, the first kind gesture he'd made in a while.

After they ate, he took the kids for a walk. They were dressed warmly enough to be comfortable for a stroll, though the wind was biting. If they _felt_ especially cold, then they said nothing. He wasn't sure where, exactly, they were headed, he was just wandering, and the children followed. He'd managed to lead them to an area of little interest even to the twins, all identical apartment buildings, and found himself lost, so he asked a man on a bicycle directions to the Thames, and the man pointed him the right way. They'd been walking along the famous river for a while when Elodie gasped and pointed. "Daddy! What's that?" Her little voice was full of wonderment. The Doctor followed the direction of her finger across the Thames to find that his seven-year-old was looking, awestruck, at the London Eye.

The Doctor blinked. "It's the London Eye. Er, a Ferris wheel."

Elodie seemed entranced. "An _eye_?" she whispered. "But, Daddy, it doesn't look like an eye to me. Who's Ferris?" She let go of his hand and leaned over the low stone wall over the Thames for a closer look. She was still small enough that she had to stand on her tiptoes to do so, and for a fleeting moment he feared that she'd lean too far and fall right over the edge, but he quickly realised how irrational that was. And of course, Elodie was perfectly fine as she stared across the river with childish awe. Ethan seemed enthralled too, but, being the more timid and quieter of the twins, he only peeked out from behind the Doctor's frame.

The Doctor considered explaining the concept of a Ferris wheel to the twins, but decided against it. There was no way they'd understand. So instead, he brought it upon himself to _show_ them. He held out his hand to Elodie, and she took it. "C'mon," he said, and his words came out gentle, measured. "And I'll show you. It'll be the experience of a lifetime."

They crossed Westminster Bridge. On the short walk to the Eye, the children peppered him with questions: "But we don't under_stand_, Daddy, what's it do?" "How can an eye be so big?" "Why is it an eye _and_ a wheel? It doesn't make any sense!" "Oh, look, Daddy, it's moving! Did you see it move? I saw it move, honest I did."

Despite the frigid February air, an impressive queue for tickets had formed, and it took all the Doctor's willpower not to sigh heavily. He joined the queue and felt in his pocket for money; luckily he still had more than enough for the three of them. The twins clasped hands as the queue inched along at snail pace and exchanged whispered conversations, unable to contain their excitement. They'd no idea what they were in for, and the mystery of it all fascinated them. In fact, they were all but bouncing up and down on their heels. A woman behind them, with two girls of her own, smiled down at the twins. "Your first time?"

Elodie nodded shyly, then her timid bashful feeling ceased and were replaced by her curiosity as she piped up, "Hey, Miss, how come they call in an eye?"

The woman laughed. "It's because you can see the entire city from the top, all of London in your sight. It's magnificent, really – we're locals, but my kids and I still go a couple times a year … though, mind you, it is a long wait … " Then her mobile rang, and she interrupted her conversation to pluck it from her purse and get herself involved in small talk with a friend, presumably, about what the girls thought of last night's movie.

The Doctor couldn't stand it, really, this waiting, the only sound being the (rather nasal) voice of the woman behind them. He'd never been a patient sort, but this entire scenario aggravated him. Of course he couldn't back out now, with the kids being so excited, he'd break their little hearts. But this waiting … he needed some kind of pass … and then it occurred to him. Hastily, he fumbled in his jacket pocket and after some rummaging, found what he was looking for. His psychic paper. This he pulled out gratefully and took the twins by the shoulders, steering them out of the queue. They began to protest instantly, so he said loudly, "Elodie, Ethan, I just found that, er, pass I thought I'd left at home, and it was in my pocket the whole time … would you believe it … ?"

Of course, Elodie saw it fit to express her confusion quite loudly. "What pass, Daddy? We only just came here."

"_Shh_," the Doctor replied as he continued steering the twins through the crowd. "We got a pass before, remember? Now, be good and quiet while Daddy gets us through to the Eye." At this point they'd reached the admission gate, where he showed the guard, a burly man in his mid-fifties, the psychic paper. He'd not used it in a while, but in truth it was one of his most handy tools. "Pass for three?" the Doctor said, trying to sound casual. "We booked tickets ages ago."

The guard squinted at the psychic paper, then gave a short nod. "A'ight, mate. You can wait here until the next pod opens up, should only be a couple minutes. Paid in advance, I s'pose?"

"Er, yes," said the Doctor, because he didn't know what else to say. The guard let him past the gate, and from there he and the twins waited for the next pod to open up. The Doctor could have requested a private pod, but saw little point in doing so, since they were riding for free. He'd not intended for it to work out that way, but then, the psychic paper worked like that. In most cases, it showed whatever he wished it to, but oftentimes the mind of the viewer had a minor effect on what was seen as well.

The twins, meanwhile, were more than thrilled. Hints having been given by the woman with the mobile, they'd somehow gotten it into their young heads that the Eye was for climbing, and that people lived inside the pods. The Doctor had been busy with the psychic paper minutes before, but now he could overhear them engaged in a deep conversation on what it must be like to live inside a tiny house that went around and around and that people were climbing all day long. He chuckled softly at their childish imaginations and naïveté.

Before long, the next pod opened up, and another man working with the ride led the passengers off, and let the Doctor and the twins in, as well as a crowd of several other people, tourists mostly, cameras and photo album smiles at the ready. Moments of their lives to be captured in snapshots of smiles, tucked into leather-bound albums, sit on the shelf, and collect dust.

It was easy for Elodie and Ethan to worm their way towards one wall of the pod, where they might have a clearer view of whatever wonders they were about to see. The twins were small enough that they could crouch down below the handrail circling the interior perimeter of the pod and press their little hands and noses against the glass. Already they were entranced, and the pod hadn't even started moving yet.

But eventually, it did, and they rode up to the top of the world, step by step.

**::**

The thrill of the day had worn the children out. They now lay sprawled on their stomachs on the library floor, flipping through a thick book about alien races. They weren't reading it of course, but they enjoyed looking at the detailed diagrams of the assorted creatures. The Doctor sat back in a comfortable leather armchair, watching them fondly. Sometimes, one of the twins (usually Elodie) would get to their feet and ask of him, "Daddy, what's this one called? What's it say?" while pointing to a page featuring the alien race in question.

And he would answer patiently each time, "Sycorax." "Reaper." "Silurian." "Morestran." "Sontaran." "Cyberman." "Ood." "Moxx."

They'd been flipping through the pages contentedly and quietly for a while when both twins suddenly and simultaneously burst into giggles. From this angle he couldn't see the book, but they were laughing at, he could only assume, a funny-looking alien, maybe the Slitheens, which were bound to be there somewhere and had, to him, always looked like something out of a science fiction movie, with their tiny heads but huge bodies, long claws, and signature big black eyes.

Elodie looked up from her position on the floor. "Daddy, it looks like a big pepper mill!" And she laughed again. "With a big sucker thing sticking out of it," she added. Again.

"It looks dumb." Ethan offered his most thoughtful input. "What's this dumb alien called, Daddy?"

The Doctor of course, knew by now which enemy of his the twins referred to. His mortal enemy across all of time and space. He'd hated them, always hated them, but since the war that loathing had piqued. He leaned over in the armchair grimly. "Oh, that rusty old thing?" he asked vaguely, unable to control the slight shake in his voice. _They're dead now, Doctor_, he reminded himself_ They're extinct now, at your hand. At least you don't have to worry about them anymore. _

But why, then, did his voice tremble so at the mention of them? Why were his hands shaking? He had no reason to feel any hatred towards the Daleks anymore; they were gone from his life, a chapter that had been finished. _Dead and gone, just like your own people_. He'd succeeded in wiping out the Daleks and so, he thought bitterly, he'd won that bloody war, if at a great cost. He'd never thought about it as winning before.

_Dead and gone. _

"Daddy?" Elodie prompted.

The Doctor climbed from the armchair and sat on his haunches next to the twins, his eyes fixed on this diagram of the most fearsome creature in the universe, now mere inking on paper. And gone, he reminded himself, always had to keep reminding himself. "It's called a Dalek," he said shortly, and closed the book, closed that chapter of his life.


	5. Armour's Cracked, Set to Collapse

**The Last Ones**

A/N: For those of you who are curious: for me, the Ninth Doctor (Eccleston) and the Tenth (Tennant) are locked in a never-ending battle for spot of my top favourite Doctor. I loved them both and can never decide which one I preferred. I love Eccleston's darker attitude; the way his Doctor is exhibiting signs of self-loathing, depression, and even PTSD. (An aside: I sincerely hope I'm doing a proper job at bringing this across in this fic, so if there's anything you think I should add or change, please tell me in your reviews!) I miss his "daft old face" (and his ears!) and his performance was … well, fantastic. Truly an underrated Doctor.  
But I loved Tennant's energy, his balance of darkness and silly moments, and oh my God his _hair_. And I feel like Ten is the only Doctor who suffered as much as Nine – his short life was one of nearly endless misery; he lost everyone in his life – first Rose, then Martha, then Astrid, and finally Donna. And Tennant portrays all the pain and loss his character feels and faces beautifully. I've seen him in several other films as well, and his talent as an actor never fails to overwhelm me. So my answer would be never to make me choose between these two.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Five: Armour's Cracked, Set to Collapse

* * *

Laughter.

The twins were laughing and they were happy. Good, that was good. He stood some distance away, watching them play in the console room. Elodie was standing on the seat of the jump chair, pretending to shoot a gun while her brother ran around in circles and avoiding her imaginary bullets. Elodie eventually climbed down from the jump chair and took to chasing her brother, and he scrambled about the console room, cackling and chanting, "You can't get me, you can't get me!" But she was quick on her feet, despite his legs being longer, and tackled him easily, pinning him to the ground. They fought there on the metal grating floor, the way children fight with lightly swatting hands and giggles. They rolled around with childish shrieks of delight, and all of this the Doctor watched quietly.

They were still happy, and that was what counted. He was doing everything right, and a tiny part inside of him, the tiny part that wasn't already consumed and choked in self-loathing, allowed himself to be comforted by this fact. Finally he was doing something right.

And, he reminded himself, there was still hope in the distress signal he'd sent out. Still something left. He clung to that thought desperately, a beacon of light in the middle of an angry sea. Bit by bit, he'd make things okay again.

Elodie was saying something. She was standing in front of him, looking up at her father with her blue eyes twinkling and a big smile plastered on her tiny face. "We're hungry now," she announced, her voice still a giggle. "Can we eat something? Do you think you can cook something good this time, Daddy?" She giggled again. "Maybe me and Ethan can help." She shrugged as if in response to her own suggestion, folded her hands in front of her, and rocked from side to side.

He nodded, let out a murmured, "Yeah," and pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the railing. Arms crossed over his chest, he walked over to the console and used it as support instead. "Okay," he told them, "go on and get your jackets. It's still cold out, and it's gettin' late. Go on, now." He smiled, and waved them in the direction of their bedrooms. Elodie and Ethan eyed him strangely for a moment, then went on their obedient way, trotting down the steps and into their bedroom.

Once they were gone, the Doctor released a whoosh of breath. He was still so … exhausted. Worn out from his efforts to be a good father, to sustain that façade of proper parentage, not to show the cracks in his armour and break down inside. Every time his mind did this, wandered off into a world of inner psychological guilt, he snapped himself back to reality. _The distress signal_, he reminded himself, over and over. His mind was still a loop.

"Dad_dy_!" Elodie. The seven-year-old was standing in front of him impatiently, fully dressed in her coat and hat but for the zipper. Ethan stood behind her, trying and failing to do up his own zipper. "Daddy," Elodie repeated, "what were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," the Doctor replied, bending down in front of her and taking the zipper between his fingers. "I'm fine." The words came out short and clipped; he hadn't intended that. Elodie watched him stoically, but she didn't draw away from him this time, and that was something. He did up her zipper, and she shuffled away without a word, waited on the ramp leading to the doors.

Ethan was still trying vainly to do up his own zipper, and eventually the Doctor reached out to him. "C'mere," he said. "I'll do it, it's okay." His son looked up, his expression hesitant, sceptical. He pressed his lips together tightly, as if to seem stubborn, but eventually Ethan stepped forward and held his hands up, allowing the Doctor to help him with his zipper. As soon as he'd done it up and folded the lapels of Ethan's jacket up to protect his little neck from the chill, the Doctor stood and ruffled his hair. "I'll have to show you two how to zip a zipper sometime soon," he noted. "Can't have you both not knowing forever."

The twins giggled softly. They shuffled back and forth on their feet, and the Doctor took their small hands in his own. He stepped out of the TARDIS, tipped his head back to welcome the slightest dusting of snow that was sprinkling down onto the earth. The flakes clung to his eyelashes, and he blinked them away. He stood there, the TARDIS doors open, for a full minute. Elodie and Ethan, who still clung to him, were looking up too, tiny smiles on their tiny faces, tipping their heads back and giggling. "Is _this_ snow?" Elodie asked, fascinated. She squinted up at it.

The Doctor looked down at her, bewildered. "What, you haven't seen snow before?" Elodie shook her head solemnly, then her blue eyes flickered back up to the falling snow, entranced. The Doctor turned to Ethan, but his son shook his head as well, and his eyes remained transfixed on the snow.

A pause, and then Ethan added bluntly, "We had cold, lots of cold, but never snow." He said this without moving his eyes, and the Doctor shook his head and gave a fond chuckle. He remembered clearly when he'd seen snow for the first time, as of course there was no snow on Gallifrey. It had been such a long time ago, when he was still in his first body. He'd stepped out of the TARDIS to see, for the first time ever, Earth, at some point in the 1890's, in the hopes of seeing the human mother he'd only heard stories of. He'd wanted to see her, nothing more. It had been snowing hard that night in Victorian London, and though that body already had the look of an old man, via Earth standards, he'd tipped his head back and laughed, spun around in the stuff like a child, slipped in it and felt it between his fingertips. He'd lain down and let his body become buried in white, cold wetness, closed his eyes, and not even noticed the strange stares he was receiving from the stiff citizens of Victorian London.

The kids had been robbed of a good and proper first snow, this was but a light dusting. But he could fix that, he could take them to a different point in time. Or, of course, a different part of the world, where they had snow. Like Russia. The Russians had quite their fair share of snow, he knew that.

Elodie was tugging on his jacket sleeve again. "Come _on_, Daddy," she pressed, widening her eyes so as to express her impatience. "Let's go!" She bounced on her heels and giggled when her feet slipped in the snow, giggled harder when the Doctor caught her. Once she was upright, the seven-year-old repeated herself. "C'mon, Daddy." She tugged at his hand again, snapping the Doctor from his reverie.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Let's go get groceries, yeah?" He began to walk with a brisk stride, and the children were forced to trot to keep up with his paces. "Let's go get groceries … " he muttered again, to himself this time, a reminder, a hook to keep his mind focused on one task and to prevent it from slinking off to dark and unwanted places.

Elodie giggled. "I know, Daddy. That's what we've been meaning to do this whole time, 'member?"

He grunted by way of a reply, casting her into befuddled silence. Ethan said nothing, as was wont. The Doctor could have apologised for startling them so, for putting them both through this. But most likely, it would wind up coming out empty, like all of his apologies had been in the two days he'd been raising them. Because they didn't deserve this, didn't deserve any of it. Including him. He'd have to take them somewhere truly interesting, as if that could make up for his terrible parentage. Perhaps to see the birth of a star – now _that_ would be exciting, and it'd be something they'd like. He imagined the looks on their little faces, how astounded they'd be. Yes, after dinner, they'd go to see a star being born. He'd fly the TARDIS up to the sky and show them. It was the least he could do to at least _pretend_ and be a half-decent father to them. As he considered this, it occurred to him just how quickly and easily they'd trusted him. His children scarcely knew him. What they did know seemed to confuse or frighten them half the time, and yet they called him Daddy, held his hand, and were happy to laugh with him and let him take them places. Why? He had, of course, asked them how they'd found him, broken man with box, on that rainy day. This he already knew and understood. But he didn't know just how much Maeve had told her sister about the man she'd known for only a few days, and he didn't know how much Sakura had told the twins about their father. He made a mental note to ask them over dinner. Right now, he had more important things at hand, including buying food, and the grocery, he now saw, was right around the corner.

As soon as they stepped into the grocery store, the children's mouths fell open. This was an action they saw fit to complete quite a lot these days. Everything captivated them: the automatic sliding doors, the piling displays of cereal boxes, the water that sprayed out to clean the fruits and vegetables in the produce aisle (they thrilled in sticking their small hands out to feel the spray of it on their palms), even the linoleum floors. They were unfamiliar with all the foods on the shelves, and peppered him with questions in their eager and curious young voices.

"Daddy, what's that say?" Ethan had asked when they first walked into the store, pointing to some canned food on a table.

The Doctor looked. "Sauerkraut," he deadpanned.

"What's _sauerkraut_?" Elodie asked with a furrowed brow, struggling to repeat the word. She began to walk over the table for a closer look, but he took both children firmly by the shoulders and steered them away rapidly.

"Believe me," the Doctor replied, "you don't want to know."

Once he'd collected a cart, the twins took turns riding in it amongst piles of food, elated. While Ethan was riding in it, and Elodie walked alongside him, grabbing all but everything off the shelves and demanding to know what it was, Ethan suddenly spoke. "Can you push it faster, Daddy?" he asked hopefully.

The Doctor paused, looked over his shoulder, then back at Ethan and his eager blue eyes. The Doctor nodded, and ran, pushing his full weight against the cart and causing it to go even faster. Ethan laughed, Elodie squealed and raced after them, chanting, "Me next, Daddy, me next!" And the Doctor found he was laughing along with them as he skidded the cart to a stop so as to avoid crashing into a shelf well-stocked in tins of dog food. Running. How long had it been since he'd had a good and proper run? He'd been doing it all his life, but ever since the war he'd not run at all. The return of that exhilarating feeling, the thrill of his hearts' beat picking up … it left him feeling a little more whole, and even a bit nostalgic. Despite himself, he felt that broad – and probably daft, though he was beyond caring – grin spreading across his face, the closest thing to genuineness he could muster.

He was _laughing_, really laughing, he realised now, and oh God, it felt good.

"Dad_dy_!" Elodie wheedled, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other in front of him, and the cart. "C'mon, Daddy, my turn now. _Please_?"

The Doctor laughed again. Yes, laughing … it felt so _liberating_. Never before had it ever felt so wonderful to laugh. "All right. Get in, you. I'll push both of you." Elodie clambered in happily, and he pushed them both. He wove between the aisles more skilfully this time, as fast as he could, and the children were laughing, too, with him. A few customers turned to look at this strange man with his short-cropped dark hair and leather jacket, pushing two small children in a cart and laughing, and they smiled politely as he passed by them in a blur. Some chuckled.

He was stopped by a stock-boy, finally, unfortunately, predictably. Some kid with messy, dusty brown hair and the slightest trace of a Welsh accent who awkwardly explained the store policies while shuffling from foot to foot. The Doctor said nothing, just gave the boy a curt nod and returned to shopping for groceries normally.

An hour and a half later, they were back in the TARDIS kitchen, laden down with bags of groceries. The children were struggling; the weight of the bags was too much for them. The Doctor did what he could to help them, but he was already carrying so much that if he took another bag, he'd have to carry it by its plastic handle between his teeth. He was strong, by human standards anyway, but he still had only so many arms. He unloaded all the groceries, though, once they dropped them all onto the island counter, packed them into the fridge, which was forced to expand to hold all the food. The twins amused themselves by spinning around on the stools as he worked at packing the food.

He cooked supper for the children, sautéed some mushrooms and baked some potatoes, covered them in melted cheese. It was – well, it was edible at least, and that was something. The twins ate without grimacing, they didn't have to force it down. The Doctor ate very little, just some bananas on toast, and only after Elodie pressed him to eat _something_, because how couldn't Daddy be hungry?

As they dined, he asked those questions he'd been meaning to ask of them. Along with the mediocre food, the Doctor had poured them each another glass of chocolate milk and as they gulped it down, clearly enjoying the sweet beverage much more than their father's cooking, something popped into his mind. In the past, his companions had often lost track of their birthdays, what with the time travel, and celebrating such occasions (celebrating any occasion, actually) had become a bit of a muddled mess. He didn't plan on losing track of the days with his kids, but things had a tendency to make themselves complicated in his life, and he didn't want that to happen. He wanted to celebrate each and every one of their birthdays with them as they grew up. He might be able to manage that. "Hey, listen," the Doctor started, "I know you two are seven. But for … how long have you been seven? Do you know? It doesn't have to be exact – "

It was Ethan who answered, through a mouthful of potato. "Two months. Two months and fourteen days, including today." He downed the potato with a swig of chocolate milk. He'd drained his glass, and held it upside down to let the last drop of the stuff trickle down his throat with cold sweetness.

"Okay," the Doctor replied. "That's … er, specific. I'll keep it in mind."

Ethan nodded, bobbed his head up and down. He took another forkful of potato, chewed, swallowed. Elodie was deep in thought, not taking part in the conversation. Her eyes gazed at the ceiling as she ate, and she drummed her fingers on the countertop in time with her chewing. A lock of her blonde hair fell in her eyes, and she blew it away.

The Doctor watched them a moment, then found the words to form his next question. It was one he had to consider carefully, as he didn't want to startle the children, didn't want to come across as aggressive. "How much do you know about me?" he asked suddenly. The words came out as sharp. It seemed that half of what he said came out sharply these days, in this body. The twins seemed unfazed, though, so he continued on. "How much did your Auntie tell you two about me; how much did she know?"

He was met with strange looks, like they didn't understand him. The Doctor was about to rephrase his inquiry when Elodie answered him. She dragged the words out like an elastic, stretched them and let them roll on her lips. "We-ell ... " his daughter said slowly. "She told us about who you are. Or at least, what Mummy told her about you."

"Yes," the Doctor replied, stressing the word, "but _what _do you know? I just ... well, I just ... I ... " he trailed off. The words refused to form, and he repeated his previous question. "What did she tell you? Exactly?"

Elodie answered, again. "Auntie Sakura told us everything Mummy told _her_. About your box, and how it can fly and go to different times. I don't really get that bit, but ... um, she told us about you and how you would fight monsters sometimes. She said you stop them from taking over the world, all the time!" At this, Elodie's eyes brightened and a grin lit her face before continuing. "Auntie Sakura says that Mummy says that you're the bravest, nicest man in the whole world." Her voice was tense with excitement, with a sort of _pride_ for the father she hardly knew. "She says you're _really_ brave. And also that everything you do is to protect people, because of how brave you are." Apparently this was all their aunt had told the twins, because Elodie stopped talking and returned to her supper. Ethan hadn't said anything, but now he was nodding slowly as if in agreement to his sister's words.

The Doctor listened, and felt himself become all the more hollow as her words hit him hard, a punch to the gut. _The bravest man in the world_. _The nicest man in the world._ That wasn't him, not anymore. It had been, a long time ago, but not anymore. He'd met Maeve such a long time ago, and that time had been one where he was charming and dashing (and had a funny obsession with cricket; he'd been going through a phase). The Doctor that Maeve had met and known and slept with had been one of lifetimes ago. That man had indeed been brave and kind. Sheltered from the guilt and pain his future ninth incarnation knew, was made up of.

The Doctor was a far cry away from that man now, and he'd never be able to become him again. Not now, not anymore. Even if there were survivors of the war, he'd still have burned up everyone else, still would have choked out their lives. Even if there were survivors, it would only do so much for his soul and tortured mind.

The voice of his daughter snapped him back to harsh reality. "You're still sad about something," Elodie surmised.

The Doctor let out a laugh, short and dry. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I am."

He still had to be her dad, still had to be a father to them both. The Doctor closed his weary eyes a moment, then opened them. "Er," he said to them, voice measured to prevent it from shaking. "you two finished? I'd wager you don't want anymore of your daddy's cooking. If you're still hungry, how 'bout you have some dessert or something? There's stuff in the fridge. Ice cream, if you want. I'll get you some ice cream." He stood and went for the fridge, movements jerky and robotic, but Elodie spoke up again.

"It's okay, Daddy. I'm not really that hungry, and Ethan isn't, either. We don't need dessert."

She was lying, of course. Her plate was still full of untouched food, and he knew she must be hungry. All she'd had to eat before this had been at the deli, at breakfast. Children like Elodie and Ethan were always hungry. But the Doctor nodded and sat back down on the spinning tool and said nothing, didn't press.

Even if he ought to have.

Knees lifted so his feet didn't touch the floor, he spun around and around in the stool, but slowly. Inch by inch, with his hands folded in his lap. They came together awkwardly, like two jagged pieces of a jigsaw puzzle forced together. He didn't look up, barely noticed, when the twins got up and left the room without a word.

**::**

It was quite late when he remembered that he'd promised to show them the birth of a star. He'd moved from kitchen to console room since, and was seated in the jump chair. The twins were in their bedroom. He heard them talking and laughing every once in a while, but mostly they were quiet. Every so often the Doctor would wonder if they'd fallen asleep, but then he'd hear their laughter and he'd know otherwise. It hurt much more to know that they were seemingly avoiding him than to think they'd simply nodded off.

He sought them out, though, so as so stick by his promise. He knocked on their bedroom door, and Elodie called from behind it, "Hi, Daddy!"

The Doctor opened the door to see them both on the floor, looking at the book of monsters from before. He bent down next to them, and Elodie shuffled aside on the floor to make room. "Can we go see that star now, Daddy?" she chirped.

"That's what I was gonna ask you," he replied. "If you still wanted to go, you should've come and gotten me."

"You were being sad," Ethan uttered. "So we let you alone."

"Well, Daddy's happy now." He got to his feet and the twins stood as well, each taking hold of one of his hands. They let him lead them out of the bedroom and to the console room, where he fumbled around with levers and monitors, and within minutes they were on due course of the birth of the star Sirius. When the time came, the Doctor turned to his children and asked them, "Ready?"

Nods from both of them. Their eyes were wide with childish anticipation, and Ethan was pressing his lips together tightly again, an expression he had a knack for producing. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly too, as the Doctor pushed open the doors to the TARDIS and stepped back so his twins could have a better view of the sight that awaited them just beyond those doors.

Elodie and Ethan hadn't had much beauty in their lives, so they'd been quite entranced by the sight that was London in their past – the tidiness of the streets, the people, the food, the wheel that went in a circle owned by some bloke named Ferris – but all that was nothing in comparison to what they were seeing now. This sight left them awestruck, utterly enchanted, staring out into something beyond what was beyond their imaginations.

They stood there staring for a long time, stared and watched as the star Sirius formed. Neither wondered about where the air was and how they could breathe with the doors open as so. Neither focused on anything else but the strange beauty beyond beauties before their eyes. They stood rooted in place, mouths half-open and eyes wide, for a long time, until Elodie turned around and whispered, as if frightened to disturb the birth of the star, "It's so beautiful, Daddy."

"Yes," the Doctor said, his voice quiet too, "I know. It's fantastic, isn't it?" He came forth and rested a hand on each twin's shoulder, and looked out with them. It was another long while before he closed the doors, when he caught the twins yawning, tired. "Time for bed, I think," he said softly, and his children nodded sleepily.

He was starting to steer them down the steps from the console room to the corridor where their bedroom was when he heard a knock on the closed TARDIS doors. Which was impossible, because they were out in space, and at first the Doctor thought he'd imagined it. More likely, something had bumped against the TARDIS. But the knock still sounded, and this time, the twins heard it, too. They spun, perplexed. Ethan said, "Daddy, what's that?"

The Doctor's hearts began to beat faster, because now he knew what that knocking meant. It could only mean one thing. The blessed feeling of euphoria, of joy, began to blossom in his chest again. "Just give me a moment," he said softly. He turned and walked, his steps quick and eager, to the TARDIS doors. "Fantastic," he whispered to himself. Because it was. He knew what the knocking was, and as soon as he opened the doors, his beliefs were confirmed as the wonderful little box that was a distress signal soared through and took to whizzing about the console room.

Unable to erase the grin that had suddenly taken place on his face, the Doctor shut the doors again and in one swift motion, caught the distress signal as it came whizzing his way. His fingers shook in anticipation, in relief, and he was ready to weep for joy. He could feel the holes inside of him filling back up again. "Thank you," he whispered to some great unknown. "Thank you."

The Doctor didn't hear his children asking him in the background, "Daddy, what's that? Daddy?" He heard only his own breathing, his short and sudden chuckles, as he struggled to regain the motor coordination so as to press the tiny button that would play the message left by the other survivor of the Time War, the message that would tell him he was no longer alone.

He pressed the button, and the message came.

_If you are receiving this message, please make yourself known. I am the Doctor and I am looking for survivors of the Last Great Time War_.

But no, that couldn't be, couldn't be right. That was the message _he'd_ sent out. He pressed the button again – probably he'd just made a mistake and pressed some sort of button to play the original message. He played the message again, and there it was. The same words.

His hands were shaking now, his entire body. "No," the Doctor choked out. "No." He pressed the button again, and again. Each time, the same message, his message. His distress signal had come back to him, because he was the only one out there, the only survivor. And that realisation was dawning upon him, though he refused to accept it. "No."

He could hear his daughter's voice. "Daddy?" she was saying from where she stood near the steps. No, she wasn't by the steps. She was behind him, shaking his shoulder. "Daddy, what's wrong? Daddy, are you okay? Daddy?"

Slowly, he raised his head to face her. "Does it bloody well _look_ like I'm okay?" he snapped. "What the hell's the matter with you? Just … go to bed. I don't need to see you or your brother right now." When she didn't react, he shouted. "I said, _go to bed_!" The last words he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.

Elodie didn't say a word. She flinched, then spun and dashed off down the steps and to her room, her brother following her closely. Hollowly, somewhere, he heard the bedroom door slam shut. The Doctor barely registered this as he cradled that little white box in his hands.

He was the last one. He was the last of the Time Lords. They were all gone. And he was left emptied out.

Hollow.

Vacant.

Cracked.

Broken.

His hands were shaking harder than they ever had before. With knees that scarcely supported his weight, the Doctor stood and stumbled over to the jump chair. There he could take it no longer and collapsed, still holding the distress signal that was his in his hands.

He buried his face in his arms, and wept.


	6. The Meaning of Dreams

**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: I've received two reviews wondering about this, as well as a PM from a different user and have decided to answer to everyone here rather than individually, as I'm sure other readers have wondered as well. **No**, this story will **not** feature Rose. It will be purely about Nine and his children, and the adventure they just might get themselves tangled into along the road because, come on, this is the Doctor we're talking about. I think that having anyone else around would spoil the tone of the story. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone. I agree Rose might make this story interesting, but it just wouldn't work with my original intentions and the plot I have planned out. I do have a couple Rose-centric stories planned for the future though, so keep your eyes open! Thank you all for understanding, and I hope you will enjoy the rest of this story anyway.  
Also, I know that this chapter is somewhat short, especially in comparison to its longer predecessor, but bear with me, because quite soon we will enter Fluff Territory Extraordinaire and there is no turning back.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Six: The Meaning of Dreams

* * *

He went through the motions numbly. He was dull, hollow, empty, gutted out like a dead, cold fish.

The days.

Ticked by.

They ticked by until he lost track of them. Did not know one from the other. They blurred together in a hollow haze of sleeplessness. He spent these days doing nothing but sitting. His children's voices, their needs, came to him through a veil. A thick blanket. Muffled. He made food, sometimes, but the TARDIS did most of the cooking, and the children ate it.

Quietly. Without complaint.

He did not sleep. He did not eat. He did not speak. He just sat there without leaving the console room. Hardly leaving the jump chair, really. He never took the TARDIS back down to Earth, and she did not try to go herself. His ship floated in space. Suspended in midair. Spinning slowly.

He did not know one thing from another. Just the feeling of hollowness, emptiness.

Space had never felt so vast before. And vastness meant loneliness.

**::**

The first time he slept, over a week had gone by, and the Doctor was scarcely able to keep his eyes open. He did not go to his bed, didn't allow himself the luxury. Instead, he dropped into the jump chair and closed his eyes, letting his head loll on his chest. He did not want to go to sleep, for he feared his dreams. But the last shred of reason he had left, the last piece of self-concern, told him that he _needed_ this. He wouldn't sleep for long. Just five, ten minutes at most. Perhaps he would be able to stop the dreams from coming. He would shield his mind. All he would do was close his eyes. Just close his eyes, rest, not dream.

It took little time for the sticky black tendrils of sleep to take hold of him, pull him under. At first, there was quiet. Blissful quiet. He was standing alone in a peaceful world of bleached whiteness. He had never felt quite so … serene. The Doctor was many things, but calm was not one of them. Right now, though, he felt better than he could ever have remembered, better with a blank mind in this blank world. Somehow, the Doctor was aware that he was dreaming. It was a knowledge pressing in his subconscious. But he liked it in this world, far from harm's way and ghosts of the past. He wished he could simply remain here for all eternity. Perhaps he's stay. Perhaps he just wouldn't wake up.

From behind him, there came a soft giggling, and he spun. It was his daughter – not Elodie, but his first, Gallifreyan daughter, from his home planet. She was a little girl again, six or seven years old, with bright eyes and long, billowing hair of a dusty brown hue. The Doctor opened his mouth. He said her name. She giggled again, turned, ran, and he followed her. His shoes clicking against some unseen white surface and her giggles were the only noises. His daughter seemed to turn a corner, was gone, and when he reached out one hand he realised that this realm was not one of just empty whiteness, but had dimensions, for his fingers brushed against some invisible wall. He followed the wall and came to a turning point, turned round the corner to see her standing there, still smiling at him. Again he uttered her name, and this time she came to him. She stood just in front of him, and spoke. "Look, Father." She turned her head and pointed upwards, and the Doctor looked.

He had to shield his eyes against the brightness of it. But what he saw was his planet, Gallifrey, complete with a view of the twins suns. It was there and it was not gone. "It's safe," he uttered. "It's _safe_."

His daughter shook her head, her gaze fixed on the planet. And as the Doctor watched, to his horror, it began to burn. Screams tore through the air, wails. Their screams. They tore through the air and they tore through him. He dropped to his knees. "No," he said. "No." But the screams went on, and he felt each one as an individual person dying as opposed to a collective whole. They went on and on until they died, and the planet with it, until there was nothing left. And he had to endure them all, the screams and the pain. He felt the sobs shake through his body – of sorrow, of guilt, of self-loathing. He turned to his daughter with his face streaked in tears. The tears were a further hint that this was a dream, though it was a terrible one, because the Doctor never let himself cry. "Why'd you show this to me?!" he shouted at her.

"It's your fault, Father," she replied smoothly, and then she, too, burst into flames until there was nothing but ash left, staining the white world in grey as they fell with a twisted sort of grace.

**::**

In sleep, he had thrashed his way to the floor and now lay in an awkward position with the metal grating of the floor biting into his cheek and one arm pressed under his weight. The Doctor remained there, uncomfortable, broken, and deserving it all. When at last he got to his feet, the images of his dreams flashed before his eyes tauntingly. He slammed one fist down on the console, causing the TARDIS to beep angrily, but he ignored her and spat out one curse. "_Dammit_." It was quiet, but full of force and thick with suppressed rage. He said it again, louder. "Godammit." He slammed his fist down one more time, hard enough to send signals of pain he didn't care about shooting through his knuckles. Then he dropped back into the jump chair.

About ten minutes had passed when he heard a shuffling noise behind him and he turned his head. Standing there with matching expressions of wariness were his children. Not his first children on Gallifrey, his two sons and his daughter, but the twins, Elodie and Ethan. The ones who'd waited for their Daddy for seven years on a dying Earth and were finally met with one that confused and frightened them. Briefly, the Doctor wondered how many days had passed, and if the twins had spent those days watching him and doing nothing else. It wouldn't have surprised him, and it was this thought that began to slowly unsnare him. Some part of him wished to reach out to his children and to comfort them, to hold them close, because they deserved as much, but his shell kept him inside himself, and all he could manage was the shakiest attempt at a smile. It was something, at least. He could keep trying to go forward from here, again. But it would work this time. He would make it work. They would carve the family into something respectable again. Because they were his children, and he wanted them to have the good life he was having trouble giving them, and because he loved them. Loved them so much it amazed him. He'd not thought that his war-torn heart was capable of loving anymore, but evidently it was.

The Doctor put as much energy as he could into that smile, but it was clear that the children were not convinced, and so he let his mouth relax and settled for an expression that was neither smile nor scowl. The twins did not come any closer, but neither did they back away. They remained still, holding onto each other, their looks measured and wary. "Hey," the Doctor said, "what do you want for breakfast?" The words were resigned and emotionless, but at least they weren't sharp.

Without moving from her spot, Elodie shrugged. Ethan did not react. When the Doctor got to his feet and approached them, their eyes flickered upwards and they took a hasty, synchronised step back. He tried to smile at them reassuringly again, and walked down the steps to the corridor leading to the kitchen. The twins watched him, and after what they presumed was a safe distance between him and them had developed, they followed.

The smell hit him as soon as he opened the kitchen door. The stench of something burning. He saw the toaster next, on the counter, choking out smoke. "What the hell?!" Pulling his shirt over his nose and mouth, the Doctor hurried over to the toaster, despite the way the smoke made his eyes water, and waved one hand about. The TARDIS could have cleared the smoke away if she wanted to, but before doing so, she seemed to have decided to force him to take some action himself, again. When at last the smoke cleared, the Doctor found himself looking at two very fat and very burnt slices of rye bread peeking their shamed heads from the twin slots of the toaster. A further inspection of the kitchen revealed the counter to be sticky with egg yolk and preserves. The realisation came crashing down on him: the twins had tried to cook their own food, because he'd not been there for them. The Doctor spun on the children, who stood meekly in the doorway. Still feeling the need to confirm, the Doctor exclaimed, "You … you tried to make breakfast yourselves, didn't you?" When they bowed their heads in silent affirmation, he threw his arms in the air as he felt a protective anger begin to form. "Well, that's just fantastic, isn't it? What the hell's the matter with you two? Just … don't even go in the kitchen without me, okay?"

It was Ethan who spoke. "Okay. We're sorry." His son looked away and hid his small face with hair that was conveniently overlong. "We won't … " He trailed off. Elodie, meanwhile, looked on the verge of tears, her lower lip and chin trembling. When she caught the Doctor looking, she sniffed and held her head higher, but she was unable to hide the wetness in her eyes.

"Sorry," the Doctor muttered. "I shouldn't've yelled like that. And … I shouldn't've left you alone like that, abandoned you for those days. But I'm not gonna do that again, yeah?" He waited for a response from them, and when there was none, he turned to the refrigerator. A good deal of the food they'd stocked up on at the grocery had already been eaten, but there was enough for a week yet. The Doctor examined the fridge's contents, then opened the freezer, from which he took hold of a package of frozen waffles. He popped these into the toaster oven, then stepped back and turned to look at his children, who'd not moved an inch from the doorway. "Can't mess up on this, at least," he said with a dry chuckle. They only gave small smiles in response.

As he waited for the waffles to cook, the Doctor took a proper look around the kitchen. Aside from the smell of burning still heavy in the air, and the mess of egg yolk and preserves he'd yet to clean up, the kitchen was still a disaster, and the Doctor wondered if today marked the first day the children had tried to cook for themselves. He didn't think so, but it was still a mess. Most of the processed foods that did not required cooking had been torn into already: a box of saltines, canned peaches they must have spent ages working out how to open, a jumbo-sized bag of caramel popcorn, an equally sized bag of crisps, a packet of M & M's, gummy bears. The wrappers lay in crumpled and colourful piles on the floor, the counter; crumbs scattered about as evidence.

The _ding_ of the toaster oven's timer confirmed that the waffles were ready, and the Doctor grabbed some plates and plucked the breakfast food from the oven tray and deposited them on the plates, not caring when they burned his fingers slightly as he touched them. There were only two waffles – one for Ethan and one for Elodie. He himself was not hungry. He selected a small bottle of maple syrup (courtesy, he took it, of the TARDIS) and drizzled the waffles in the thick, golden-brown liquid before placing one plate in front of each of the stools and indicating that the twins should have a seat and eat. After a moment's pause, they did so, settling down into the stools and taking hold of the cutlery the TARDIS had left there because the Doctor had forgotten to do so himself between ginger fingers.

Their bites were small nibbles, and their eyes flicked up to him every few moments nervously. The Doctor did not join them at the stools, choosing instead to move around the kitchen and clean up the accumulating mess, which the TARDIS was refusing to tidy herself. The Doctor tried not to turn and look at his children, tried to home his focus in on the cleanup, but he thought that perhaps his silence was making them all the more uncomfortable. A beat, and then he said softly without turning around, "How long? How many days did I ... ?"

"Week and a half," Elodie responded through a mouthful of waffle. "It's okay, Daddy; you're over it now. Right?" When the Doctor turned to face her, she was fixating him with a hopeful look. She wanted to believe her father was through his sporadic bouncing between jovial and oddly broken. She wanted to believe it so very much. It was written all over her small face, in her blue eyes and the way she gripped her fork.

The Doctor gave a short, forced chuckle. "Yeah," he said, praying it was true himself.

**::**

Over the course of the day, he did his best to be whole for them, but mostly the children kept to themselves, perhaps taking care not to take any risks yet and get too attached. But the Doctor was present, at least, more so than he had been over the past week and a half, according to Elodie. A bloody week and a half. That was, what, nine days? Ten? It was high time he started to _be_ there, really be there. As the day wore its weary way on, the Doctor was sure to smile at them every time they entered the room, to question them of their needs. During the first few hours their responses were somewhat robotic, but at least, after their short exchange over breakfast, they answered with words and not frightened gestures. By the end of the day, even Ethan, the more withdrawn of the two, was starting to relax again.

Somehow, he convinced himself to sleep again. After the twins had been put to bed. He had no idea how it happened, not after the previous night's bout of night terrors, but he found himself lying in bed with a thin sheet over his body and his shirt and leather jacket in a heap on the floor again, with the lights out and his eyes closed. _Don't dream, Doctor_. _Whatever you do, just don't dream. _

He told himself this until he had fallen asleep.

**::**

And sleep he did. Finally fitfully, deeply, so deeply that even his dreams could not reach him in his hiding place. So it surprised him that when he woke, there was a weight on his chest and something curled up against either side of him. He snapped open his eyes in confusion only to find his children. They had climbed into bed with him, though they lay on top of the covers, their small bodies cuddled up against his. Ethan lay on the side opposite the wall. He'd rolled over and one hand hung limply over the edge of the bed. Elodie rested her head against his chest, peacefully. They were both sound asleep.

The Doctor lifted one hesitant hand and gently he stroked his small daughter's hair. She mumbled something into his chest and stirred, but did not wake. Not wanting to disturb their sleep, the Doctor ran his fingers through her messy blonde locks, and with the other arm, drew his slumbering son closer to him. He whispered to them when they could not hear his words. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm sorry."

The words were just as empty as he often felt, but that didn't matter. Because he'd said them, and right now, he felt them more than ever.


	7. You Who've Been Travelling So Long

**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: This chapter's title comes from the lyrics of _Sisters of Mercy_ by Leonard Cohen, one of my favourite songs. While listening to it the other day I realised how many lines of it suit the nature of this story, and the Doctor, so I decided to incorporate some of its lyrics into a chapter title. The full line goes, "_Oh, I hope you run into them_ / _you who've been travelling so long_." I think it's a great shame that people today tend not to know any of Cohen's music other than _Hallelujah_. While I do agree it's one of his best songs, there are so many other Cohen pieces that deserve more recognition, and _Sisters of Mercy _is one of them.

An aside: I've been re-watching some older Eccleston episodes and I'm a bit worried I haven't gone Nine quite in character. I know this is a slightly earlier version of him, and obviously he'd behave differently with his children than he does with Rose and other humans, but I still feel as though I'm not quite writing for Nine properly. So, if there is anything you think I should add or change, **please** let me know. Thanks.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Seven: You Who've Been Travelling So Long

* * *

The twins woke perhaps an hour later. In that hour the Doctor did not move from his bed, he just lay there quietly with his children curled up against him. He lay there with only the steady pulse of four hearts occupying the silence: his own two with their four-beat rhythm, and the thumping of the single heart of each child. They were so peaceful, so serene, and they deserved to stay like that. And seeing them without any sort of misery in their lives, without that almost _fear_ of him, put the Doctor at a sort of ease, if only for a moment.

When they did wake, sitting up, blinking and dislodging the sleep from their eyes, they looked up at the Doctor nervously, seemingly waiting him to get cross about something. There was a half-expectation on their small faces, and it broke his hearts. He was careful to give them a big, cheerful grin, and the children seemed to relax a little. Elodie, who was starting to climb over him and off the bed, wriggled back under the sheets contentedly. The Doctor strained to keep his smile. "Mornin' there. How'd you two sleep?" His voice was filled with a phoney cheer; he could taste the words, overly sweet, as they rolled from his lips. But it was enough to convince the children, who were both clearly pleased that their Daddy would be approachable again today.

"We slept good," Ethan replied, stretching his little limbs.

"We scared your bad dreams away," Elodie said brightly. "They only come when you're alone." She paused thoughtfully, then added, "Usually, anyway."

The Doctor swallowed hard, made his smile stay for a minute longer, then let his face relax again as he ruffled her blonde hair. "Well, I appreciate that. Now, you want some breakfast? How 'bout we try those waffles again? At least _those_ weren't a disaster." His remark made the children giggle slightly as they crawled out of bed, Elodie rolling across his chest in a way that was most uncomfortable. The Doctor reached for his shirt, but upon realising how badly it was beginning to smell after wearing it for so long, he opened his wardrobe, and sure enough the TARDIS had left him a new top. He threw this on, but chose to keep his leather jacket. He went to the kitchen, the children trotting along behind him, and going straight for the spinning stools. As the Doctor removed a pair of frozen waffles from the freezer, popped them into the toaster oven, he noticed Elodie suddenly stopping her spinning and leaning over to whisper something in her brother's ear. When she saw the Doctor looking her way, she quickly resumed her game.

The Doctor waited tensely for the _ding_ of the toaster oven, and as he waited he watched his children. He dropped onto the free stool, hands between his knees. Elodie stopped spinning again, caught herself with one toe on the island counter, and looked at him with her head cocked to one side, as always. "Are you _sure_ you don't want to eat anything, Daddy? I want you to eat." She straightened herself and her expression morphed to one of childish sternness. "You _need_ to eat."

Ethan was giving the Doctor his own look of concern, and it was enough to make the Time Lord chuckle in defeat. "Okay," he said. "Okay, I'll have something small. A banana or something; bananas are good. But this food's for you two." He leaned over to Elodie and brushed the hair from her face. "Do _you_ want a banana with your waffles?"

She shook her little head back and forth. "Nah. You have it, Daddy. 'Cause – " She was interrupted by the firm _ding_ of the toaster oven, and the Doctor rose to put the now-cooked breakfast treats on two plates for his children. When he returned with them, bathed in rich golden-brown maple syrup and two glasses of orange juice, he asked her what she'd been saying, but Elodie didn't answer, choosing instead to take her glass between small fingers and take a swig. Ethan didn't say a word either.

The Doctor took a banana from the fruit bowl, stripped it of its firm yellow skin, took a bite. It had been a terribly long time since he'd eaten, and now he finished the fruit in wolfish bites. He'd really not thought himself capable of this kind of hunger. But when that banana was finished, he took a second, and a third, before he was through eating. He realised that he'd eaten faster even than his children, who were barely halfway through their own breakfast. They were both looking at him with looks of both bemusement and what could have almost been relief, had they really understood the feeling. The Doctor flashed them a grin, and indicated for them to continue eating. The twins exchanged glances before finishing their meals and gulping down their orange juice. Being good because there still existed a sort of fear in them that if they didn't do as they were told, their father might shut himself off like that again.

"So," the Doctor said when they were finished at last, "what do you two want to do today? Anything you want to see?"

Wide-eyed looks from the pair of them. "Like what?" A beat. Then, from Elodie: "Can we go back to London, Daddy? I want to ride that Eye. Again."

The Doctor released a chuckle. He was doing that one hell of a lot these days. Short chuckles, forced laughs. Broad, daft grins that only managed to convince his children. He gave one of those grins now as he said to her, "Yes, Elodie. Yes, of _course_ we can ride that Eye again. We can ride it a thousand times if you like."

**::**

When he flew the TARDIS back down to Earth again, it was to find he'd landed it in 2002 rather than 2003. It was closer this time, though - it was mid-November. Only a few months away from February of 2003. So that was something. He bundled his children up as warm as the weather would allow and they stepped out of the TARDIS, which had found her way to a different alleyway, into a world of London grey and a hush of silver-white fog. It had not started to snow yet, but snow was of course scarce in London. And no matter the weather or year, his children delighted in the world around them. They still had so much to see and take in, so much they didn't know. Every block they spied something new to ask about, including but not limited to motorbikes, the football some children were playing with when they passed through Trafalgar Square, and also in Trafalgar Square, the great lions who perched on the fountain with frozen elegance. "Are you _sure_ they're not real lions, Daddy? Maybe they're under a spell!"

To which the Doctor would reply with total honesty that who knew, perhaps they were planted there by some alien race. That sort of thing was hardly foreign to him. As an alien himself in this world, and one who spent a lot of time defeating other aliens with nefarious plans, he was well used to the concept of extraterrestrials on Earth, well used to them cropping up in unlikely places. "But don't worry," he reassured them when their eyes went wider, "I'm sure they're not dangerous. Not these ones. Probably not." And he'd be able to tell by their still-wide eyes that the idea delighted them. He could also tell that yes, this was what fathers did. He was doing a half-decent job, trying so hard to, and for now at least he could keep up the image that he was ready. He didn't feel one hundred per cent ready, but he was doing an okay job at pretending, for them. For now.

They made their way to the London Eye, only to discover it was closed, temporarily, for maintenance, and neither twin made any effort to disguise their disappointment as the Doctor read the sign posted on the railing to them. The Doctor offered to return to the TARDIS and take a short jump to the near future, but Elodie and Ethan shook their heads. "That's okay, Daddy. We can go tomorrow," Elodie said brightly, wiping the rueful look from her face in a flash. "Can we do to other things instead? See other things?" It was hard to tell whether or not she genuinely wanted to _see_ _other things_ as she claimed, or whether she was nervous about displeasing the Doctor. And that still pained him.

But the Doctor offered them his smile again. "'Course. We can see anything; anything at all. I can take you anywhere you like. And it doesn't even have to be London!" He bent down to their level, blue eyes meeting blue. "You saw the birth of that star. We can see more of that sort of thing if you like. Or we can see some other part of the world. I can, I will, take you to see literally _anything_ you like. Wherever, whenever, you two want to go, I'll take you." He realised he was resting his hand on their slim shoulders and looking at them with a sort of intensity foreign to him. The Doctor had given similar such speeches to his past companions, but somehow, it felt different this time round. Somehow the meaning had changed.

His children, meanwhile, listened to him silently. Then Elodie said softly, "That's what Auntie used to say. She used to say you really could go anywhere. She used to say it all the time, 'cause you're all Mummy used to talk about apparently."

The Doctor reached up to give her a shoulder a squeeze, then raised his other hand to ruffle Ethan's hair. He stood, stretched, gave them each his hand. "Well, that's what were gonna do, yeah? We're gonna go see everything. Do you wanna see something else in London, then? There's all sorts of stuff here. This one little city, with all those other cities out there on other planets, houses some of the biggest wonders I could ever've imagined when I first came here." They began to walk, his children looking up at him. "So, it's up to you. Where first?"

Ethan shrugged. "We don't any places," he replied. Elodie suddenly leaned over, crossing over the Doctor and causing him to stumble, to whisper in her brother's ear. The boy's eyes lit up as Elodie pulled back. Ethan tugged at his father's hand. "Daddy? Can we just walk around and then go back to your box after? We want to play there."

The Doctor was surprised, but he nodded. "'Course we can. Wanna walk all the way back to my … box, then, same way we came?" When the children nodded ardently, they resumed their walking, neither twin failing to point out everything that crossed their path. Their enthusiastic and excited exclamations earned them a few fond smiles from passersby, and from others still, warm-hearted chuckles. Elodie and Ethan noticed and relished the attention, and so the Doctor kept them moving at a brisk pace. He was not the sort to want to attract attention, even over something as banal as his kids being thought sweet and smiled at.

Once they worked their way out of central London, the people dispersed and there were also fewer wonders to be seen, making it easier for the unlikely little family to get to the TARDIS. As the Doctor pushed the doors open, the children trotted in and up the ramp, craning their necks up to look at the high arched ceiling. Clearly they were still enchanted by their new home, despite having been living in it for nearly a fortnight. As the Doctor shut the doors behind him, he noticed suddenly and for the first time the way their eyes lingered for a few more seconds on all the controls, buttons, levers, at the roundels on the walls. (What were those roundels anyway? He still had no clue). Perhaps, though, they felt more comfortable here than they did in the strange world outside. They'd heard so much about it, and now it was theirs. They were too young to truly grasp the idea that they had all of space and time in their hands. What they did understand was that the TARDIS was their home, and that it was a wonder. Mind you, they still called it the "box". He came up behind them as they circled the console and stroked the levers and buttons without pulling or pushing them. "You know, this old box has got a name," he said. "Called the TARDIS."

"We know," Elodie replied. "But it's a box too, right, Daddy?"

He laughed. "Sure. A box and a whole lot more." He patted her shoulder. "So, what do you want to do in here? We could watch a film or something. You haven't seen a film before, have you?"

Simultaneous shakes of the head. The Doctor took the sight of them in for another moment, then squeezed each of their shoulders. "Well, then. I think the pair of you are in for quite something. C'mon. I reckon we'll be able to find a telly in here somewhere … and some films … I've got a whole collection of films in the library. Cassettes, DVDs … and film reels." They wouldn't know, of course, what a film reel was, but to the Doctor, watching something on a film reel was always the most exciting. He loved the grainy, genuine, quality given by the reel, the slight crackle in the sound. It had also been a long time since he'd thought about this sort of thing. Something so light-hearted, and it was a bittersweet reminder of the days before the war. What a different man he'd been then, indeed. He realised he was walking hollowly again, brooding now, and he tried to pull himself from this as he entered the TARDIS library and sorted through the collection of old Earth films he had there. There were many, just about every film that had ever been made. For a moment he saw what was one of his favourites: the 1934 adaptation of _Les Misérables_, and one of many. Of course, that was hardly appropriate subject matter for kids, and he dismissed it. He continued skimming through the films, his mind struggling to home in on the collection before him and not in those darker places that tried to suffocate him in their honesty, his thoughts balanced on a tightrope. Eventually, he found a film he knew the children would enjoy. _The Wizard of Oz_. It had been one of the first films he'd seen on Earth, in a 1939 theatre when it had first been released. Such a long time ago. That, too, had occurred when he'd been a very different man.

And just like that, he'd slipped and lost his balance on the tightrope. He wobbled precariously; he began to fall. It was the tug of a little hand that saved him from pummelling to the ground, and sweet eyes looking up at him from either side. "Daddy?"

"Yeah," he deadpanned, swallowing hard. He looked down at Ethan, then at Elodie. "Yeah, I'm fine." He let go of their hands and took the film reel carefully in his hands. "_The Wizard of Oz_. You're gonna love it. Let's go find a place to watch it." He exited the room, and the children followed. As they wandered the TARDIS' corridors and poked their heads into rooms, the Doctor did his best to explain to them what a movie was. They wouldn't even know, of course. They didn't seem to understand as he explained, but nor did they speak up, and the Doctor did not elaborate.

Eventually they found a spacious room one storey below, with a large screen and a projector. Three plush armchairs arranged in a tidy, snug row, and a small table with bowls full of finger food. The children busied themselves in climbing the armchairs from the back as the Doctor set up the film. After some fumbling, he was ready. He flipped out the lights in the room and sank into one of the armchairs. The children stopped climbing the armchairs and quietly settled down themselves.

The movie began to play, and the children were entranced. Spellbound at this film with its grainy and, for now, sepia quality and with the sound of the film reel in the background, clicking merrily away. As soon as those opening credits began, their eyes widened and when Judy Garland came onscreen and began to sing, their mouths fell open with childlike enchantment. They continued goggling throughout the entire run of the film, even to the point that they entirely forgot the bowls of snacks in front of them, and when it was finally over, they broke into chatter, demanding explanations of how the pictures came to life, where the sound came from. All their questions came pouring from them, and the Doctor tried his best to respond to their inquiries.

Later that evening, sometime after supper (and this time, the Doctor ate something too) they small family gathered in the console room, where Elodie and Ethan took to climbing the jump chair and pushing each other off, running in circles. They had grabbed their soft toys and had taken to teasingly throwing the stuffed animals at each other. The room was heavy with their shrieks and laughter, their young voices filling the empty space, tartar between the cracks.

The Doctor, meanwhile, had decided to discover the nature of the TARDIS' recent faultiness. Something must have been wrong with the wiring. Removing his sonic screwdriver from his inner pocket, he detached a piece of the metal grate flooring and jumped into the hole, where there was barely enough room to crouch with the jungle of wires and cords underneath. Squinting, he aimed his sonic at one of the wires, a bright red one, and sparks erupted, causing the Time Lord to pull back and blink several times. Pushing this wire aside, he got down to business, fumbling with the technology and attracting the curiosity of his children, who wandered over and lay flat on their stomachs to watch him. He didn't notice at first, went on working, until Elodie tried to climb down into the hole, and the Doctor looked up. "Oi," he protested. "What're you doing?" Elodie shrugged, and the Doctor waved her up. "I'm trying to see if there's something wrong with the TARDIS, seeing as we keep landing in the wrong times. Go on, you don't wanna get hurt. Go on!" He waved again, and with a resigned sigh, Elodie began to climb back up.

She was small, however, and the floor of the console room was already above her head. Stretching out little fingers, she managed to get a firm grip on the metal grating above and pulled herself up. On her way, one foot became tangled with one of the wires and as she tried to free herself and climbed back up to the console room above, she pulled the wire loose from its connector.

The result was a sudden eruption of sparks, followed by a small explosion. It was enough to send the Doctor backwards, and had there not been a bed of wires to catch him, he would have surely gone flying back and hit the ground hard. His ears – _these bloody ridiculous ears _– were ringing faintly. Dazed and struggling to disentangle himself now from the cords, he coughed out, "Elodie? Ethan?"

Two small calls came to him. "Up here!" "We're okay!" And the Doctor breathed a sigh of relief , a relief at knowing that at least they'd not been harmed. And he himself was fine, though he was vaguely aware he was covered in smears of grease. He did, after a period of a few minutes, manage to free his limbs from the wires, and after a hasty check to make sure the TARDIS had not taken any great damage – which, thankfully, she hadn't – he climbed back up to the main console room and replaced the piece of floor. Playing around with the wires could wait until later.

As he turned to the twins, Elodie seemed mortified. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said. "Honest I am."

The Doctor shook his head. "You didn't mean to. The TARDIS is fine." He glanced at his grease-covered hands and gave a chuckle. "I should probably have a wash, though, and y'know, the both of you could do with one too. Did you wash, when I … ?"

Elodie shook her head. "Dunno how. We washed our hands, though."

The Doctor swallowed his guilt. "Well, you'd better have a bath now, then. C'mon." He put his hands on their shoulders, steered them to the bathroom. Taking in the sight of his children now he realised how grimy they actually were, and how greasy their hair was from a week and a half without washing it. He supposed their pyjamas must be dirty too, but neatly folded and placed on the lid of the toilet seat were two fresh pairs, ready to be worn. There was a pair of white pyjamas with blue pinstripes and buttons going down the front for Ethan, and a nightgown with lace at the collar for Elodie. It was all very Victorian, but the children seemed to like the pyjamas anyway and their fingers stretched out to touch the fabric. As he filled the tub with comfortable, lukewarm water, the Doctor first washed his hands, then helped them to undress, helped Elodie to undo the buttons at the back of her blouse. Once the tub was filled, they climbed into it together, and before he could even remove the bottle of shampoo from the cupboard under the sink, there they both were, laughing and splashing and small. When he reached for them they laughed harder and squirmed away just out of reach.

"Oi," he chastised them, taking care not to sound too harsh or annoyed. He strained to make the words come out teasingly and light-heartedly. The way a father should gently scold his children. "Stop muckin' about." The twins quieted and stilled as he worked at washing their messy, greasy hair, then as he took a bar of soap and scrubbed their little bodies down. Before terribly long they were both clean again and basking in a pool of soapy water. He pulled the plug and the water drained out of the tub. The Doctor lifted them both from the tub, and gave them both new towels to dry off with. He helped them into their new pyjamas, doing up the buttons again and sending them off to bed with a father's assurance to wish them good night momentarily.

He intended only to shower at first, but a quick glance in the mirror revealed to him the promising stubble of an oncoming beard from the days that had passed without shaving. A beard was undesirable, and this he shaved off before stepping into the shower to wash off the grease and the guilt. The water rained down onto his naked body in a punishment of hot streams. When he stepped out of the shower and dried off, he could, through the cracks of the closed door, hear giggles coming from the twins' room. Dressing hurriedly, he crossed the corridor and poked his head into the room to find them sprawled out on Elodie's bed and looking at a book. Coming up behind them, he realised it was the same book they'd been looking at in the library all that time ago, the one about the alien races. It was open to the page featuring the Daleks, pepper mill bodies and all.

"Still liking that book, then?" he asked as he kneeled down on the floor next to them. Elodie raised her head and nodded.

"Uh-huh. And this one —" she pointed to the page in question — "This one's our favourite. They look so silly!" She giggled, then yawned. "Sleepy now, though."

"Yeah, I bet you are. Wanna go to sleep?" the Doctor rubbed at her back, and she nodded in affirmation as she crawled under the covers as her brother stepped across to his own bed. The Doctor crouched between the two beds and closed the book, placing it on the floor behind him. His children were both snug on either side of him, their heads resting on their pillows and their blond hair giving them both the impression of two angels. "Go to sleep now," the Doctor said tenderly, and he stood, giving them each a kiss on the forehead. "We'll do all sorts of stuff tomorrow, yeah?"

It was Ethan who replied with an, "Mm-hmm." The seven-year-old wriggled under the covers and rolled over, burrowing his little face into the pillow. The Doctor leaned over him, brushing the hair from his face and giving him one last kiss to the temple before doing the same with Elodie, who was already half-asleep, mumbling something unintelligible as the Doctor wished them both a good night and turned the light out, shutting the door behind him.

The moment he was out of the room, he sank down to the floor and leaned against the door, resting his hands on his knees. Today … how had today gone, really? It had all gone over well, really. Because, finally, _finally_, he was doing a half-decent job, he thought to himself as he stood again a minute later and wandered into the console room. He flew the TARDIS up into space for the night. Space, where it was so much more peaceful and where he had always felt at his most comfortable.

The Doctor could have gone back to playing with the wires now, but it hardly mattered. Instead he opened the TARDIS doors and sat down with his long legs dangling out of his police box and his hands on either side of him. He watched the sky, looked out into space, that endless expanse of black ink specked in white, and the sky watched back.


	8. One Last Laugh

**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: Another unforgivably short instalment, but hopefully enjoyable all the same. Oh, and there may or not be fluff up ahead. You have been warned. Also a huge thank-you to all my regular readers, who have already helped me reach over 50 reviews! It really does mean a lot. Thanks especially to _Ramonks33 _and my fantastic beta reader, _judybear236_.  
Disclaimer: (I keep forgetting to put these up … ) I do not own _Doctor Who_. The Doctor and the rest of the whoniverse do not belong to me. Yes, it's hard to accept, but I'm trying to get over it.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Eight: One Last Laugh

* * *

It would seem that this body had developed a small habit of falling asleep in places that weren't bed. For example, tonight. The Doctor woke up from another mercifully dreamless sleep with the TARDIS still floating in space, leaning against the door-frame and his legs dangling out of the blue box. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, the Doctor quickly pulled himself back into the TARDIS and shut the doors before rising to his feet. He flew the TARDIS back down to Earth, but not to the early 21st century as he had in the past. He landed the ship towards the end of the 19th century. London, of course. The children might like it there. He favoured the 21st century, true, but on the other hand, he still felt a special something towards the 1890's, perhaps because that was the era his human mother was from, and, technically, the time when he himself had been born. He didn't try to aim for any particular date, exactly, just the decade in general. The whirring noise of the TARDIS materialising on a Victorian London street kept him company, and when at last he'd properly landed, a glance at the monitors revealed it to be December 1892. Luckily, he'd managed to land in a back-alley rather than a busy street. else the TARDIS would have attracted some attention from the passersby. Better yet, the streets were blanketed in thick layers of fluffy white snow. The sky was painted a light winter's blue, with white wood panelling. It was windy out; a stray newspaper skirted across the road, but otherwise it seemed to be pleasant enough.

The Doctor exited the console room, trotted down the steps leading to the corridors, and pressed one ear against the door of the children's room. He could hear them through the wood, the evenness and sureness of their sleeping breaths. He resolved not to wake them, choosing instead to further inspect the contents of the kitchen cupboards and the refrigerator. Most of the sweets and junk food had been finished; just a single sleeve of saltines remained, lonely in their cardboard box that proclaimed, '_Six Packages — Now only ₤4!_' in bold type. There were plenty of fruits, vegetables and microwave meals, though, and it would seem like he and the children would be living off of those for a while _— _not necessarily a bad thing. Those microwave meals were probably better than his cooking, anyway. On the other hand, he really ought to start learning, since the only progress he'd made in the past couple centuries of his life was that he'd discovered lettuce was not to be fried.

If he focused on this sort of thing, these sorts of thoughts, he could, he realised, shrug off the grief temporarily, so only a few of its long fingers held on. But he knew, acknowledged, he'd never truly be able to escape it. The grief still remained close to his body, but its grip, while it had not yet loosened, did not completely restrain him in its clutch.

The Doctor spent the next half hour trying for scrambled eggs again. He hardly succeeded. Besides the fact that he'd burned his hand in the process, the end result was a runny heap of white and yellow, but when he brought a forkful to his mouth, he decided they tasted quite bad, the eggs, and considered throwing them away. His hunger won him over and he ate the eggs himself. The children, he'd give something else. Something nice they'd like. The Doctor turned back to the fridge, finding, eventually, some pumpernickel bread and a package of cream cheese. Toast with cream cheese, he could manage to make. Probably.

It wasn't much later that the children, clad in their new pyjamas and looking (quite appropriately) like something straight from the Victorian era, came padding barefoot into the kitchen. They were yawning, their hair mussed from sleep, as they took their places on the spinning stools at the island counter. "G'morning, Daddy," Elodie mumbled, rubbing sleepily at her face as Ethan groggily echoed her words.

The Doctor gave his children a jovial grin. "Mornin' to you, too. How would you like something half-decent for breakfast today? Toast. I reckon I can do toast." When the children gave their consent, the Doctor popped two slices of bread into the toaster and turned to them. "Y'know, I made eggs this mornin' and I had some. They were rubbish, I can tell you. Consider yourselves lucky." The children giggled in response, then took to spinning about on the stools. It was something, the Doctor decided, that they'd probably never tire of. But children were like that; you gave them one toy or showed them one game and they'd want to play all the time. Children were so easily captivated by the smallest, most mundane things. Certainly, kids Elodie and Ethan, who had lived in a world that was dying as they grew up, would be easily impressed by a world that was relatively healthy. The human empire at its height. Not that they weren't also entranced by the TARDIS, which was better than the very best home they could ever have imagined. The best possible home, with a father who was trying so hard to do as good a job and to live up to what they deserved.

Finally, and yet again, the toaster's _ding_ saved the Doctor from his brooding as he plucked the two nicely browned pieces of bread from the contraption and deposited them on two plates. He grabbed a knife from the drawer and smothered the pumpernickel with thick, rich cream cheese and served them to the children with a flourish of the hand and a "_Voila!_" The twins took hesitant bites of the toast at first, then ate faster. The toast, at least, had been a success. The Doctor poured them each a glass of apple juice, which they happily downed before turning to him with matching eager expressions.

"What do we do today, Daddy?" Elodie asked perkily, her blue eyes bright.

"We're going on another outing," he replied, coming over and taking his place on the spare stool next to her. "I was thinking a little further into your history this time; would you like that?" At their excited nods of agreement, the Doctor hopped back to his feet and spread his arms wide. "Fantastic! Now, why don't you two go on and get dressed. I'm hoping there'll be some clothes for you on the bed or in your wardrobes."

The TARDIS thankfully did leave appropriate period clothing for the children spread out on their beds: trousers and a button-up shirt with a small waistcoat for Ethan, and a grey-blue dress with a shawl and bonnet for Elodie. The Doctor helped them to dress: there were enough buttons on the clothes to cause even him some brief confusion. As he helped them to dress, the children were quiet. Still. Patient.

There was no fussing or squirming from either child, but once all the buttons had been done up and strings and bows had been tied where necessary, Elodie and Ethan were happy to take his hands and let him walk them to the console room. When they reached the doors, he paused. "Are you ready?" he asked. They looked up at him and nodded excitedly, he shouldered the doors open and revealed the winter wonderland that was Victorian London to them. Their eyes widened and their mouths fell open at the sight of all the neat, perfectly white snow.

"Is it real, Daddy?" Elodie breathed, and when she received a curt nod in affirmation, the seven-year-old continued. "Wow. Real snow! Can I … " She trailed off, unable to continue. Ethan continued to silently goggle. After a few moments, she collected herself and said, in a whisper, "Can we go out in it?"

"'Course," the Doctor replied with a laugh. "You two take the first steps." He released their hands, and the twins hesitated a moment before stepping forwards, marvelling at the mark their boots made in the snow with the slightest _crunch_. Another few tiny steps, then they were out and running and laughing, in awe. The children dropped to their knees in the stuff, rolled in it, not caring or noticing the cold of it for even a second. Their only other snow, a few flakes falling from the sky, was nothing compared to this. The Doctor watched them from the doorframe for a while, but eventually he shut the TARDIS doors behind him and came up to join them where they played. His leather jacket didn't quite blend in with the period, but then, the Doctor had never cared about that sort of thing.

Elodie, her hair and lashes laced with snowflakes, turned to him with a grin. "There's just so _much_ of it!" she exclaimed, gathering a handful in her small palms and throwing it in the air. The flakes danced back down, each in their own individual ballet.

The Doctor reached out a hand and caught one delicately on his finger, watched as it melted, then looked up at his children. "Why don't you two _do something_ with it, then: make a snowman, have a snowball fight or something?" Because he was pretty sure that that was the sort of thing kids liked to do. When met only with looks of confusion from the twins, he realised that of course, being from their world, they wouldn't know what snowmen and snowball fights were. "Oh … " he murmured, "Well, I suppose I'll have to show you all that." He felt a grin spreading on his face, involuntarily, genuinely. The Doctor reached out a hand and gathered a handful of snow, packing it neatly into a ball. He paused, aimed, and threw it, though not hard, directly at his son.

The snow hit Ethan squarely on the back, causing the little boy to let out a yelp of surprise and his sister to giggle hysterically. The Doctor paused, suddenly realising in horror he might have frightened his son all over again, and waited tensely for Ethan to recoil or do something equally heart-wrenching. But Elodie hadn't stopped giggling, and soon, in his quiet way that was so different from his sister's mannerism, Ethan smiled, shook the spray of snow off, and asked shyly, "Is _that_ a snowball?" The Doctor nodded in reply, relieved he'd not scared his son for once, and went on to teach the twins how to pack the snow into a neat ball and how to accurately throw them.

And so it was that a broken new father and his two children engaged in a snowball fight in a Victorian London alleyway and exchanged laughter. The Doctor could have taken them to a park, where there would be more space, but this alleyway was empty, and they would not be surrounded by the stiff citizens of London in this time period who were wont to taking strolls in the park no matter the weather, where they would hope to be noticed. The alleyway had perfectly good, clean, fresh snow, and it would do nicely a snowball fight. The most attention they would attract would be from a passing drunkard.

The unlikely little family moved into the streets, eventually, where there was even more space, and though they were sometimes passed by pedestrians, they remained, for the most part, ignored. Elodie, it seemed, had impressive aim for a seven-year-old, and she hurled snowballs at her father and brother with surprising force and accuracy. Gathering a well-packed ball in one small hand, she threw it hard, and it hit the Doctor in the middle of the chest. She shrieked in delight at her success, and remained undeterred when, in return, she received a snowball to the shoulder herself. Ethan remained on the quieter side of the fight, choosing to duck and only throw a snowball for revenge, but he was clearly enjoying himself more than he ever had in his life right now.

As for the Doctor, it really was at times like these he could hide from his guilt and self-loathing, at times like these he told himself he would be able to do it, be able to be their father.

He suddenly received two snowballs to either side of the head from either twin, and he laughed. "You little … " he began, and dove for Elodie, tackling her with tickles. She shrieked in delight, squirming and squealing demands between giggles to be let go. The Doctor ignored her, continuing to tickle her until at last she managed to wiggle free and fall, still laughing, back onto the snow. The Doctor then went for Ethan, who laughed just as heartily and tried in vain to get away.

When Ethan finally managed to squirm free, both children pounced on top of him, pinning him down. And the Doctor found himself laughing, _really laughing_, as he swept them up and took to tickling them all over again.

They played together, the three of them, for what could easily have been two hours. When at last they returned to the TARDIS, the twins were red-cheeked, breathless, and covered in snow. The Doctor took one look at their dampened clothing and gathered them up, leading them back to their blue box home to warm up so they wouldn't get sick. Illness, that degree of devotion, he was terrified he wouldn't be able to handle it for long enough. He sent the children off to change back into their pyjamas, and once they were appropriately and snugly dressed, he led them into the kitchen.

The Doctor leaned against the counter a moment, then turned to his twins with a grin. "We should have something warm, yeah? I reckon you've never had hot chocolate before … "

Puzzled looks. Simultaneous shakes of the head.

He chuckled, because again, of course they wouldn't. But then, they were in for a right good treat. The Doctor found a few packets of powdered hot chocolate in the cupboard and began to boil some water, got some mugs. The mugs were old and chipped and precious, etched in fading writings in Gallifreyan. His fingers gingerly traced the writing, writing he would never see again outside of his library on the TARDIS.

Hastily, the Doctor pushed those thoughts away and focused on the hot chocolate. Or, more accurately, focused on not burning the water, because he wouldn't have been surprised if he had. Luckily, he managed to boil the water to the necessary temperature and poured it into the mugs, along with the powdered hot chocolate. He retrieved small teaspoons from a drawer and stirred. His past companions had always melted the chocolate themselves, and it had always been a thousand times better than the powdered stuff. There was a half-finished bar of Ritter Sport chocolate in the fridge, but frankly, the Doctor didn't trust himself to melt it like that. For now, the powdered stuff would have to do.

All of this the children watched calmly and quietly, preoccupying themselves only with the spinning stools, but they both sat up straighter when their father presented them with a steaming mug of hot chocolate each. They wrapped their small fingers round mugs etched in writing they didn't understand and allowed the heat to seep through and warm their little bodies.

The Doctor drank, too. The deep brown, bittersweet liquid was hot and burned his throat as it went down, but he scarcely noticed, enjoyed the taste of it, enjoyed treating himself to something after so long. And the children drank too, after a few minutes, and it was clear that they were practically enamoured with it.

If only every one of their days could be like this one. Filled with laughs, and happiness, and days where he didn't feel quite so alone in the universe. Perhaps they could be, if he tried hard. Yes, they could be. Together, they'd shape and mould their lives into a good one.

The Doctor was indeed the last of the Time Lords, but his children shared his Gallifreyan DNA. They were the last ones together, and for now at least, that was what counted.


	9. The Past Comes Out to Play

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**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: I know this chapter is also _a tad _short, and I probably owe you guys a longer installation after last week's short chapter. But I was having some trouble coming up with original fluffy ideas, and I'd rather have a chapter on the short side than one that's forced.  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Doctor or anything else out of the whoniverse. Let's not talk about it anymore.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Past Comes Out to Play

* * *

Having put the children to bed, the Doctor now went to sleep himself, going to his own bedroom and firmly shutting the door. He lay down on the bed, not bothering even to strip off his shirt and jacket this time, entwining himself in his sheets. The day had been a delightful one, but he was worn out now. He allowed his tiredness to claim him, and in his mind, the TARDIS reached out to him, lulled him to sleep. It was her presence in his head that truly relaxed him.

He dreamt that night, but for once he was spared from mental haunts and tortures. In his sleep, the Doctor found himself in an almost surreal world, the colours distorted but beautiful, the oranges and reds of Gallifrey louder and more vibrant than they had been in reality. His first children were there, and small again, laughing and playing in the tall grasses, their little voices warming the air and his hearts. He was still in his current form, ears and all, but all the same, these were _his children_, right there in front of him. He reached out to them, and they came into his arms, giggling and releasing happy cries. His two sons and his daughter clung to him, and he picked them up one by one and tossed them in the air, spun them around by their arms.

Still aware he was within a dream state, he wanted to cling to these children, the ones he'd lost, who'd grown up and had kids of their own, who'd burned and died at his hands. He wanted the world to freeze like this, to freeze time. Freeze their laughs that caught on the Gallifreyan wind and freeze the happiness here, to become locked into it.

However, when at last he'd set them down and taken a good look at them, they were not his first children, but had morphed into Elodie and Ethan. They were clad in their Victorian pyjamas and they were happy to be with him, trusted him, and the Doctor took the realisation like a punch to the gut. He was finally starting to succeed in moving forwards, and if he was to do that, he would have to continue to remain duty-bound to Elodie and Ethan who _needed_ him, right now in the waking world.

When he woke, his room was filled with soothing darkness and his eyes were burning slightly with tears. The Doctor allowed himself a tiny, bitter smile. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and whispered the names of his Gallifreyan children aloud, then the names of the twins who were his responsibility and charge right now. _Elodie_._ Ethan_.

The Doctor exited his room and slipped into the bedroom that the children shared. He didn't disturb them as they slept, just leaned in the doorframe with his arms crossed, blue eyes set on the tousled blond hair and the little bodies curled around the blankets and the new duvets the TARDIS had fixed for them. She'd never really had small children on board before, just Adric and Ace, but they'd been teenagers, and it was clear she liked to spoil them a little.

He wondered what it was they were dreaming of, and whether their dreams were happy ones. They seemed to be sleeping well. They didn't twitch or jerk in their sleep, but were resting. Peaceful. Serene. They were still so young, and though they'd been through a lot for their seven years, they were just little children. Children who had many more experiences and adventures ahead of them, who had so much more to see and learn and lose.

No, not lose. He wouldn't let that happen. He would stay strong for them, and he would make sure to keep them as far from pain and loss as he could.

Listening to the certainty of their breathing and feeling comforted by it, he reflected. He could, really could, go on like this. Maybe even settle into a life of near routine, at least while they were still small. Every day was another step forwards, another block in the uncertain but proud home he was building for the three of them. Mind you, it was a house of cards.

But then, the Doctor knew cards, and he could build that house like a master, if he tried hard enough. And perhaps today he'd put forth an ace.

**::**

Another breakfast in the kitchen. All spinning stools and, on his part, rubbish cooking. Bright smiles from the children, happy to see that their father would, apparently, be there for them today. He treated himself to a coffee – two milks, one sugar – and fixed the twins some tea with honey. They drank it all up happily, the warmth and the sweetness easy down their little throats.

The Doctor watched them eat and drink their tea while sipping at his own coffee, leaning against the counter. When they were through, they bounded over to him and he took their little hands and lead them to the bedroom, where he helped them to dress in 21st century clothes again, which the twins seemed to find far more comfortable than their stiffer Victorian outfits. He could have taken them to see a different planet, perhaps, or at least a space station of some kind, but then, perhaps that would be just a step too far for the children. Oh, they were clever and excitable, and more importantly, they were _his_, but perhaps for now it would be best to stick to Earth. Besides, the Doctor had a habit of finding trouble on space stations and he didn't want to put the children in danger. Not that Earth tended to be much safer, really, but there was nothing dangerous about taking them to the park or having a snowball fight. Probably.

"So," he said, once they were all gathered in the console room. The children were reclined on the jump chair with their feet resting on the console, and he was perched on one of the railings. "What d'you two wanna see today? London again? Or someplace different?" Dropping down and pushing himself forwards with his body weight, the Doctor lightly touched his fingers to the levers and buttons and regarded his children with his daft token grin.

From their spot on the jump chair, the twins looked at each other, then back to their father, and shrugged in synch. The console room fell silent as they thought, until, not unexpectedly, Elodie spoke up, her seven-year-old's voice bright as ever. "Could we just go to London again? And just walk around?" She took on a more wistful tone. "I really liked it there." Drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin there, she added, "_Please_, Daddy? Please? I reckon Ethan wants to go, too. Don't you, Ethan?" She turned to her brother, who nodded in agreement.

The Doctor was already chuckling softly. "Londontown it is, I s'pose!" He punched some coordinates into the typewriter that was plugged directly into the time rotor and pulled one of the necessary levers. The familiar wheezing sound filled the air, and as the great ship faded from Victorian London, the console room shook violently, causing the children to laugh and shriek in delight as they clung to each other. The Doctor, meanwhile, lost his balance completely and fell backwards into the railing, which only caused the twins to laugh all the more.

"Oi!" the Doctor exclaimed through his own chuckles.

The ship shuddered once, and then it landed with its usual sureness. The Doctor pushed himself to his feet and glanced at one of the monitors, revealing it to be October 2001. He sighed – he was a couple months off from the original coordinates he'd entered, but no matter. He clapped his hands together once and held his arms open. Elodie and Ethan, thankfully, scrabbled from the jump chair and made their way to him, each taking one of his hands. Again, the Doctor walked with them to the TARDIS doors, which he shouldered open before stepping out into London 2001, where they'd landed in another convenient alleyway behind a row of rubbish bins.

It had rained only an hour or two ago; he could smell it in the air, fresh and light, and the pavement was still damp. It was slightly cool out, though not unpleasant, and they'd be warm enough in their jackets. Rays of sunlight were breaking through the grey clouds and were only just blessing the surface of the earth with their warmth. As the small family stepped from the alleyway, they saw the streets to be crowded, as always, with umbrellas shoved under arms, briefcases and shopping bags swinging freely. All the people pushing past one another in a rush to get wherever they were going, as if those few minutes would make so much of a difference in their little lives that were all bound to come to an end sooner or later. Snippets of conversation passed by, all manner of topics in London's varying accents.

Elodie tugged at his sleeve and he glanced down at her. "Come _on_, Daddy. Can we go do something now?" She was bouncing on the balls of her feet with emblematic childlike excitement and impatience. Her brother, too, looked eager, as they both were. Both so easily thrilled at the simplest of prospects. By God, they really _were_ his children. Elodie tugged at his sleeve again, and the Doctor gave her a little grin before he started to walk, and the twins were all too happy to skip alongside him. 'Course, skipping was probably required to keep up with his own brisk pace, which he had trouble getting rid of.

He had no idea which direction he was heading in. Not even sure of what part of town they were in, exactly: all his surroundings told him was that they weren't in central London. But where they headed didn't matter. What did matter was that that they were still together, he and his children. That they were headed somewhere together, and he could still feel happy.

**::**

They went to the London Eye, which was open this time round. And this time they queued up properly, too, despite the Doctor's impatience. He might have used the psychic paper, but the queues weren't quite as long as they'd been that day in February, perhaps because it was just a little bit after opening time. Only a few people were in front of them, including a gaggle of girls about fifteen years of age, who were giggling so much that the Doctor had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

As they rode the Ferris' Eye, as Elodie and Ethan had taken to calling it, the twins once again fearlessly came towards the walls of the pod, their small hands and noses pressed against the glass as the city of London grew smaller beneath them. The Doctor stayed a little bit further back from the rest of the crowd that filled the pod, which included (unfortunately) the gang of teen girls, who continued giggling hysterically the entire ride. But he found it wasn't difficult to enjoy himself quite as much anymore. He found it easier to laugh and to grin, and the gestures felt a tiny bit less forced.

At one point, when their pod was parked at the very top, Elodie turned around and beckoned to him earnestly, and he went over to her, bending down to her height. She sat down happily on his knee and cuddled up against him, and Ethan shuffled over to join them, sitting himself down on the Doctor's other knee. He held them close as they overlooked London, decided that he wanted to freeze time right here instead. Then, motioning for them to climb down, he held both children at arm's length.

"Oh, tell me this isn't a dream, too."

Elodie seemed puzzled. "Huh? Why would it be?"

He ran his fingers through her still-tangled locks. "Just tell me," he pleaded softly. "Do that for Daddy, yeah?"

The seven-year-old shrugged. "Okay," she said amicably. "It's not a dream, Daddy." She was happy to say it, maybe even almost needing the words herself, for she repeated them. "It's not a dream. It's real. All of this is real. It's not a dream."

Ethan, too, put in his own words of confirmation. "None of it's a dream, Daddy."

The Doctor closed his eyes a moment, absorbing the meaning behind those simple words. When he opened them, his children were studying him with their own childlike, naïve concern. "Are you okay, Daddy?" asked Ethan softly.

He chuckled softly. "Yeah. Yeah. Top o' the world." Then, pulling them into another close embrace and burying his nose in their hair, he added, his voice muffled slightly: "Thanks."

**::**

Next was another long walk along the Thames, Elodie and Ethan still skipping alongside him to keep up. Not once did they complain about the chill, but maybe all that skipping kept them warm. Their jackets were cosy, though, so maybe that was enough to protect them from the cold. After a little while, though, maybe an hour and a half, it became evident that the twins were growing tired as they stopped their skipping and their little feet began to drag. And yet, they still didn't utter a single protest.

The Doctor let go of their hands and picked each of them up without a word. Their little arms went around his neck instantly, and they clung there, happily resting their heads on either of his shoulders. Together, they were heavy, but in truth he hardly noticed. "You hungry?" he asked of them, and Ethan nodded into him sleepily.

"Okay," the Doctor said as gently as he could. "We'll go find a place for a bite, yeah?" Nods again, this time from both of them, and he gave a soft smile before going on his way hunting down a place to eat. Eventually he did find something, a posh Italian restaurant. He set the twins down, who were wider awake now, patted down his jacket pockets, and was grateful to find he still had a good deal of money on him. A respectable stack of fifty-pound notes. "What do you think o' this place?" he inquired, gesturing at the restaurant in question, and the children nodded, jovial.

The threesome stepped inside the restaurant, the Doctor brushing off his shoes on his way in. They were instantly served by one of the waiters, who frowned briefly in disapproval of their casual wear, but his lips stiffened into the polite smile that the upper-class seemed to have mastered so well and presented them with a comfortable table where Elodie and Ethan marvelled at the shine of the cutlery and the sparkle of the glasses, earning further quiet disapproval from the waiter. In response, the Doctor gave the man a false smile of his own and a "Just the menu, please," in the most sarcastic tone he could manage, and was pleased to find that in this body, he was perfectly capable of sarcasm. _Quite capable_, in fact. It was impressive. And he definitely got the waiter to back off, for the man seemed taken aback as he offered his signature "Of course, sir," and hurried off to fetch some.

He was back a moment later, menus in hand, which the Doctor took. Elodie and Ethan took their menus also, and held them in front of their faces, pretending to read them. When the waiter was gone, the Doctor guided them through their menus, and helped them both settle on the meals of their choice, though a few of the prices listed caused him to release a whistle, and he considered himself lucky that technically, none of the money was real.

When the waiter returned a short while later, and the Doctor ordered their meals, the man proved himself capable of some gall. Just after jotting down their orders, he remarked, "You aren't from around here, are you, sir." It was not a question.

"Nope," the Doctor returned, popping the _P_.

Another mastered smile. "Yes. Whereabouts _are_ you from, then?"

"The North," the Doctor said briefly, pretending to fumble in his pockets for something, disinterested already.

"Hmm, yes. Long way off." The waiter words were all pursed lips and curt tones.

"Yep," the Doctor answered, the word clipped, and finally, the waiter parted. The Doctor turned in his seat and watched as he disappeared into the kitchen, then turned back to the children, who had taken to admiring the crisp white napkins and tablecloth. He smiled at them jovially, and they grinned childishly back.

_Yes, sir, a long way off to be sure. You've got no idea … but don't you worry your little ape mind; it's all gone and burned up now._

**::**

After a satisfactory and filling (if ridiculously pricey) meal later, and another walk along the Thames, the Doctor, Elodie, and Ethan had gathered back in the TARDIS. Night had fallen, the kids wee already bathed and in their pyjamas but were not yet tired, so he let them stay up a little later. The kids had gone exploring the sentient ship's infinite labyrinth of corridors for a while and had come across a closet filled with other toys for them to play with, much to their delight. Including a box of crayons and two fresh spiral-bound notebooks with plain blank sheets of paper, perfect for the doodles of a seven-year-old. The Doctor had been unsure if they knew anything about how to draw at all, what with their former lifestyles, but evidently they _did_ know how, for they were now happily sprawled out on the console room floor with their notebooks in front of them and new crayons in hand, filling the pages with childish drawings. When he crouched down on his haunches next to them and expressed his surprise at their ability, Elodie just shrugged and answered that sometimes she and Ethan had drawn with pencils on the walls before.

It had been another pleasant day for the Doctor and his children. Maybe, even, an ace, as he'd reflected previously. He assured himself, though he'd stated it many times before, that he was getting the hang of this. That he _could_ go on being their father, the proper father that they so deserved. That he was starting to live up to that. That he even deserved to be their dad himself.

He, meanwhile, had taken to flopping down onto the jump chair and had picked up a book from the TARDIS library, an old favourite of his. _The Catcher in the Rye_. He'd read it more times than he could count in his nine hundred years, but he never tired of it, or of Holden's sharp narration. He was so engrossed in his reading that he did not, at first, notice the signal coming through on the monitors. It wasn't until the TARDIS began to beep frantically and static came through on the monitor screen that he frowned, set down his book, hopped down from the jump chair, and leaned forth to get a closer look. Elodie and Ethan noticed, too, and they got to their feet to take a closer look.

The signal seemed to be having a hard time coming through; it was almost as though the TARDIS didn't want to let it pass. As though she were fighting it. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, aiming it at the monitor, and laid one hand gently on the ship's console. "Oi, let it through, whatever it is. You're not gettin' all stubborn on me again, are you?"

Still she protested, but some fumbling with the sonic, and eventually, the static flickered out to reveal a clear image on the monitors.

The Doctor stumbled back.

One word emerged from the speakers: "_Doctor_."

"No," the Doctor whispered.

And again: "_Doctor_."

"Impossible."

And then, another final word.

A word he'd hoped never to hear again.

"_Exter-min-ate_!"


	10. In the Safest of Places

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**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: So sorry for the slow update on this one, especially with that cliffhanger (I'm such a terrible person). But it's just not easy to write for the Daleks … and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.  
And in reply to guest reviewer **The TARDIS**, (chapter 4) I am aware of _Doctor Who_'s interpretation of Earth in the future, but yes, this is my own version that I've crafted, a semi dystopian society which I think is a more realistic course for our world to take given what's going on right now.

Disclaimer: Dear BBC and Steven Moffat, I'm not pretending to own _Doctor Who_ so please don't sue me.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Ten: In the Safest of Places

* * *

Fear.

Confusion.

Shock.

Anger.

There was all that, she could sense it in him. But mostly fear.

Elodie watched from her place on the floor, feeling hopelessly confused herself, but mostly she watched Daddy. And she could just feel the fear in him, she could see it. She thought he might be trying to hide it, but she could sense it. It was all over him. In the way he stared at the monitor with his mouth half-open, and the look in his eyes. It was in the way he was standing, all tense and a little hunched over and his fingers digging into the railing on which he now leaned. Daddy was feeling a lot of things right now, but mostly he was _scared_.

Not that Elodie wasn't scared, too. Naturally, she was. She didn't know what was on that monitor and she didn't know what _exterminate_ meant — probably something bad — and she didn't know what was capable of such a strange voice, but whatever it was, it scared Daddy.

But between her and her brother, she was the bolder of the two, and she knew it. And she was curious, too. She stood up, abandoning her colouring and approached the monitor to see what had scared Daddy so much. His order came suddenly, like he was lashing out: "Stay back!" Instinctively she flinched, and his voice softened. "Stay back, love."

"Daddy?" she ventured softly. She didn't move; she remained rooted to the spot and kept her eyes fixated on him. "Daddy? Daddy, what _is_ that?" Elodie's eyes wandered to the monitor. If she tilted her head a teeny bit to the left, she could see the screen. And on it was the last thing she expected to see: those silly monsters from Daddy's book, the ones that looked like pepper mills. She couldn't remember what their names were anymore, but it was obviously them. Hastily she scuttled back to her brother, who was watching the scenario unfold with wide, confused eyes, but Ethan being Ethan, he didn't get up to see.

The strange shrill voice came out of the speakers again. "_We will speak to the Doctor!_" It made Elodie want to flinch; she didn't like the voice. But she stayed still and frozen, her eyes fixated on Daddy. She couldn't ever remember seeing him like this, actually. When he spoke to the pepper monsters, his voice was so taut with rage that the seven-year-old was tempted to turn away. Even when he'd gotten angry at her before, it hadn't been anything like this, and that confused her beyond measure.

"Well, what do you know? You're speakin' to now, and isn't it an honour." He surged forwards and slammed his fist down, and this time Elodie jumped back. "How did you survive the Time War? I burned you, burned all your ships. I killed you. You should all be _dead_!" Daddy all but screamed the last word, and again, Elodie stepped back. Her curiosity had definitely been wiped out, replaced with sheer terror. Out of instinct, she turned to her brother, who was already reaching for her. They clung to each other and watched the scene unfold, not knowing what was to come next.

The pepper monsters responded in that same shrill voice that didn't seem to differ between them with all the syllables broken up. "_The Daleks will always sur-vive_!"

Daddy was starting to shake even more violently, and he suddenly slammed his fist down on the console again, hard. When he drew his hand away, staring, still stricken, at the monitor, Elodie noticed his knuckles were bloodied. She had no idea what to do or think; she wanted to go to Daddy and make him better but she didn't know how, and she was scared he'd be angry at her for it. So she just clung desperately to Ethan, and she could feel her twin brother was holding onto her just as tightly. Elodie and Ethan had lived through a lot, had spent many nights holding onto each other for warmth when the cold had set in, and had clung to each other while hiding under a bed on the night when the firebombs fell from the skies while Auntie Sakura kept her hands clasped over their ears, and Elodie's mind suddenly flashed back to a fraction of an image.

The dirty and cracked mirror in their room trembling in its frame.

An explosion.

The tinkle of broken glass.

Elodie was familiar with all of it, as was her brother, but neither of them had ever experienced anything like this.

There came the sudden grinding, whirring sound that Daddy's blue box — the TARDIS, she remembered, as Auntie Sakura and Daddy himself called it — made whenever they went somewhere. She wondered, for a second, if Daddy was flying them away where the pepper monsters couldn't get them, but then she saw him panicking. Diving onto the controls and pushing buttons, jiggling levers, helplessly, and then stumbling backwards again while looking at the monitor with the pepper monsters in horror. "What've you done?" he shouted. "What the hell've you gone and done? How are you controllin' my TARDIS?!" A short pause, in which Elodie waited with bated breath. "Answer me!"

The whirring stopped. There came the dull thud of the TARDIS landing.

Daddy froze.

And the pepper monsters answered, "_Your ques-tions are irre-le-vant_! _We have trans-por-ted your TAR-DIS on-to our ships_! _You shall board or you will be exter-min-ated_!"

A beep, then the sound of static.

Daddy circled the console, his eyes full of an emotion Elodie had never seen in him before, even when he'd gotten so cross with her. Then he slowly sank down to his knees and wrung his hands before finally looking up. His eyes met with Elodie and Ethan's, and he grimaced just as a shrill cry was heard from behind the doors. _Exterminate. Exterminate. Exterminate_. That same strange word over and over. Daddy's eyes flicked over to the doors, then back to the two of them and his gaze softened. He held out his arms, and Elodie didn't need to be told. She got up and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her nose in the leather of his jacket, with Ethan close behind. She hugged her father tightly, and felt comforted by the feeling of his arms coming around her to pull her closer in, though his hands were still shaky.

"Oh, kids," he muttered, voice cracking. He suddenly pulled away and held them both at arm's length. "Listen to me, Elodie, Ethan. It's important." Elodie nodded, and her brother followed suit, and Daddy took a deep breath before continuing. "Daddy has something real important to do now. Something dangerous. And I need you two to … to stay safe. I'm going to go out of the doors now, and I want you to stay in the TARDIS. Just wait for me in here and _don't go out the doors_. Just stay right here in the console room. You've gotta do that for me, yeah?"

Next to her, Ethan nodded gravely with his lips pressed together. And all that Elodie could do was nod too, feeling ready to cry. She didn't ask any questions. She didn't think Daddy was going to answer her anyway. "Okay, Daddy," was all she whispered. "Are you gonna die?"

A chuckle. "Hell, no. I'll be damned if I die here and leave you two alone. I'm gonna come back. I promise." Daddy gathered them both in another hug and when let go, he took a moment to give Elodie and Ethan a kiss each on the forehead before getting up on shaky legs and uttering one last order. "Keep each other safe." Then he squared his slumped shoulders, crossed the room, and opened the doors. The monsters started to shriek again, but the doors shut behind him, and that was the last the children heard.

**::**

When Elodie was four, she and Ethan once had to run and hide from some coppers. Auntie Sakura had nicked a couple of dried food packets from the front of a shop and she'd been caught on camera. Everyone always had to set up cameras if they could afford them because food was expensive and it was _always_ getting nicked by the hungry and destitute. Sometimes there were armed robberies conducted by the gangs, too, gruff teams of young adults who lurked in dodgy alleyways with their cigarettes and knives. And it wasn't just adults, but children Elodie's own age, too, and younger still. Little ones who weren't lucky enough to have an aunt to look after them and lived on the streets. Elodie and Ethan had seen the street urchins, with more soot visible than skin, and clothing even more ill-fitting than their own. Most of them had bad teeth, and overgrown hair that went past their waists. Their eyes were always so hollow and empty, like they'd lost all hope and were clinging to life by their fingernails. In comparison, the twins were well off, and those kids scared them.

Yes, there was a reason that food was always getting nicked.

But this shop had been in absolute shambles with cracked windows that hadn't been washed in a decade, torn and dusty awning, a neon sign that didn't light up, and a sad-looking stand in front of it rotting and collapsing in on itself, so Auntie Sakura had decided to take the risk. They'd been caught, and Auntie Sakura had taken Elodie and Ethan at arm's length and told them to run fast as they could and hide somewhere, and that she'd find them, before racing off in the opposite direction.

Elodie didn't remember it all very well, but she did remember the confusion she felt, and the fear as she ran. She could recollect hearing shouts and the trill of whistles behind her. The rest was hazy. But Ethan had grabbed her hand and the both of them had done as they were told; they'd run as fast as they could down the streets of London, and after a while had climbed into a gutter, where they'd remained until Auntie Sakura found them. Elodie didn't know _how_ Auntie Sakura had known where they were until she realised that she and her brother had run towards home and they were in an alleyway just a block away. They'd all gone inside, sitting on the floor and eating the stolen food, and Elodie had just been old enough to understand they were all very lucky not to have been arrested.

That was how she felt right now. Petrified, confused. Elodie stared after the closed doors for a good thirty seconds as the lights on the console blinked frantically. The seven-year-old clung tightly to her brother's hand, and she glanced over at him, met his gaze. Ethan looked just as scared as Elodie, if not more so. The twins took another moment to evaluate what was happening, and silently communicated in the way they were used to, and the silence stretched between them like an elastic, filled only with wobbly breathing from the pair of them. They squeezed each other's hands, fingers entwining. One more squeeze.

Elodie had the bedroom she shared with Ethan, and the kitchen, and the library, and she'd been in Daddy's room a few times. But of all the rooms, her favourite was the console room. She liked the lights, and all the funny buttons. The corals going up to the ceilings were nice to curl up against, and the jump chair was the most comfortable thing she had ever sat in. It was soft without being _too_ soft, and the material covering it was smooth. The jump chair was torn and leaking foam in a few places, and had been put back together by silvery tape, but it was still comfortable. Best of all, the console room was the first room she'd seen, and what was more, it was all those buttons and levers that took her places with Daddy, like London before her time and the place of snow. It was only natural for Elodie to like the console room best, and she knew Ethan felt the same way.

And now they had to wait. Wait for Daddy to come back.

_If_ he came back.

They couldn't hear anything beyond the doors anymore; not a single sound, nor were the speakers on. And the monitor screens, which, from what Elodie understood, usually showed what was going on outside like they were hooked up to a camera, were blank. She really had absolutely no way of knowing what was happening to Daddy, and that was terrifying, too. She dearly wished to be able to turn one of the monitors on but she had no idea how. So she and Ethan were left to wait in silence and tension.

Suddenly the lights on the console blinked rapidly; a humming sound emitted from the TARDIS, and it seemed to reach into Elodie's head, easing her and cradling her, telling her all would be alright in the end, like a message, though there were no words. It burst in her mind, like lights that danced and twirled in beautiful streams. It was the most comforting feeling the young girl had known. She would be kept safe, she knew and understood that now more strongly than she ever had before. Her mind flashed back to something Auntie Sakura had told her. _Your Mummy told me that your Daddy's ship is _so _marvellous, it's alive. And it can communicate with you in your head, Elodie, Ethan, with just feelings, no words. Your Mummy said that once it sung to her with no voice, and it was just the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard._ It had been one of many tales, but that one had always been a favourite of Elodie's. And now she knew it to be true.

She recalled also her first night here, when she'd been so much more afraid and confused and missing Auntie Sakura. Daddy's TARDIS had whispered to her, again without words, but still, it had been just like Auntie had told her. Elodie had been disoriented and dazed that she'd forgotten much of what she'd been told, but all the same, she'd allowed the whispers to lull her to sleep that first night.

Now, Elodie drew her knees to her chest and rested her head on her brother's shoulder. Ethan put an arm round her. And that was where they waited, with the humming in their heads, quietly, impatiently.

Waited for the Daddy they had, over the past fortnight, come to trust and love and might not ever see again.

**::**

Elodie hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she'd been waiting for a long time now. She woke up, blinking against the light. Next to her, Ethan was already asleep and showed no signs of waking anytime soon, so she carefully climbed down from the jump chair and stretched, taking a moment to recall everything that had happened. "Daddy?" she called out softly, praying he would emerge from one of the side corridors, back and safe.

He didn't.

She circled the console, like he sometimes did, with her hands at her sides, occasionally reaching out a finger to timidly stroke a button or lever. She leaned into the dead blank screen of the monitor and tapped at it, but got no signal. No nothing. Elodie went as far as going near the doors and pressing her ear against them, only to hear what sounded like the mechanical hum of engines. She tried to stand on her tiptoes to see through the little windows at the top of the doors, but she wasn't tall enough, and after vainly jumping many times, she gave up, stepping back in distress and childish frustration.

Elodie wanted to do what she was told. For the most part. She was used to it, used to being _good_. There was a big difference between surviving and following all the rules, but being good was the best way to get by in the London she knew. She did as Auntie Sakura told her, and that was that. And in the past two weeks she'd listened to Daddy and followed all his orders. Yes, Elodie and Ethan both knew they fell into a category of obedience. But on the other hand, now Daddy was in a kind of danger Elodie could barely comprehend, understanding only that he was in deep trouble he might not get out of. And she didn't want to sit and wait in the TARDIS console room anymore. She wanted to go out and help her father.

In a word, she wanted to be defiant. To save him.

Before she knew what she was doing, Elodie ran across the console room and shook her brother awake. Ethan blinked open blue eyes blearily, sitting up and rubbing at them. "Is Daddy back?" he asked simply.

"No," Elodie answered. "But I think I want us to go and save him. He's in trouble, Ethan. He might _die_." These last words she spoke with great fervour and wide eyes.

Ethan opened his mouth to protest. "But didn't Daddy say — "

"Daddy's in danger," Elodie repeated insistently. "We _have_ to, Ethan." She might have been just seven, but she'd seen enough to be more than a little wise beyond her years. She could be bold when she wanted to be, she'd had reason to a few times in the past and this wasn't much different. And besides, although she didn't fully know it, she had the genetics of a Time Lord. Of course she was no ordinary seven-year-old.

And Ethan was just like her. What was more, he was her twin. Some things didn't quite need full saying between the two of them. It had always been like that. After pressing his lips together in a moment's thought, he nodded, his overlong blond hair falling in his eyes as he did so, which he brushed away. "Okay," Ethan agreed. "Let's rescue Daddy." He climbed down from the jump chair and fumbled with the zipper of his blue jumper, eventually giving up as Elodie watched with a giggle.

The twins took hands, and they walked out of the console room, pulling open the doors. The TARDIS hummed and beeped frantically; she didn't want them to go. But Elodie and Ethan closed the doors behind them, to find themselves on some kind of a spaceship, and all of a sudden they felt very, very small.


	11. The Angels Never Arrived

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**The Last Ones**

Author's Note: To cease any confusion, I'd like to clarify that this chapter jumps back in time a little bit to when the Doctor left the TARDIS. It also does switch around a little in narrative, and by extension, jumps around in timelines to some degree, a style which I don't often use when I'm writing, but I reckoned was the best way to write this specific chapter.  
Either way, enjoy! I hope you don't mind that this one wound up being shorter again: I really am trying to get some long chapters in here but life's been hectic lately.  
Finally, this chapter's title is taken from a life of _We Are Young _by Fun.

**::**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: The Angels Never Arrived

* * *

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, closed the doors behind him, before finally turning around. He'd been expecting the Daleks to be there waiting for him, of course, just as he'd expected to hear their shrill cries of "_Exter-min-ate!_" greeting him. The "pepper mills", as Elodie and Ethan had called them once upon a time, had him surrounded and thus pinned against the blue box exterior of his ship. Instantly, the lasers began to fire, (what reliable little buggers) but he already had his shields up, and stood with his arms crossed over his chest with a façade of impatience as the lasers disintegrated on their paths towards him. The Daleks, genius as they might be, could also be remarkably slow when it came down to this, and they continued firing, the sharp, single favoured word of their vocabulary filling the air.

After several rounds, the Doctor released a heavy sigh. The epitome of impatience, indeed. "Ah, sod this," he muttered to himself before raising his voice. "Basic force field. Blocks bullets, arrows, … lasers and the like. It's not going to work, so you lot can give up now. I thought you wanted to talk to me?" The lasers stopped firing, though one final stubborn "_Exter-min-ate!_" pierced the air. The Doctor was suddenly acutely aware of his shaking hands, and shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. He opened his mouth to confront his enemies again, but was suddenly aware of the tremor in his voice. So he kept quiet, for the moment.

One Dalek, a bit larger than the others and possibly the leader, rolled forwards. "_We will speak to the Doc-tor! The Doc-tor will accom-pany us!_"

Blue eyes like steel struggled to stay steady. The Doctor set his jaw and managed, "Where? Where are you takin' me?" He swallowed hard again. Smacked his lips, unsure what image he was playing now in the gallery of masks he always wore and was becoming quite expert at. Wearing those masks was perhaps his most rudimentary survival mechanism, how he kept himself from going completely mad, and that he did for his children. He figured this particular image might come across as a sort of devil-may-care façade, and decided to stick by it for now. It seemed to have the desired effect. He repeated his question, daring to raise his voice, and it didn't crack. "OI! Where are you _takin'_ me?"

He did not receive an answer, not that he'd expected one. Instead, one of the Daleks came up behind him, coming close enough to nudge at him from behind. It was a disturbingly humanoid gesture, and the Doctor stumbled with the force of it, half-tripped, turning over his shoulder to look at the creature behind him. It was a smaller one, an underling. It nudged at him again, and the Doctor understood he was to be led somewhere as two other, somewhat larger Daleks rolled over and took their positions on either side of him, like sentries, in all their menacing pepper pot glory.

So the Doctor did. He allowed the Daleks to march him off to whatever horrific, hellish future they had in store for him, sparing one last glance over his broad shoulder at the TARDIS. His children were in there, but he knew that she'd keep them safe. He trusted the old ship for that, and he trusted her to take them somewhere safe should anything happen to him.

Not that he planned on anything happening. He had wanted to die, once, fresh out of the war, and the thought of allowing death to free him from his burden and grief, now that the opportunity was so close, was disturbingly tempting. But he wouldn't — _couldn't_ — let that happen, because he had Elodie and Ethan to look after now.

He would survive this, the Doctor promised himself. The Daleks would try to kill him, of course, just as they always did. And he would find a way to defeat them.

Just as he always did.

The Doctor had been inside Dalek ships before, of course. More times than he could fathomably count — after all, his enemies always had a pesky habit of showing up, no matter how many times he defeated them. And those ships had always had a strange, twisted sort of beauty about them: so elegant and sleek, yet so dangerous, the heart of the universe's most fearsome creatures. When he'd been young and in his first body, he'd even marvelled at the architecture, despite the fact that his life had been on the line.

This Dalek ship was unlike the others. It was more ramshackle, like it had been badly damaged and then been put together with scraps. It lacked the impressive structure of the other Dalek vessels. Proof, the Doctor reckoned, that these select few had managed, somehow, to survive the Time War and the burning of Gallifrey. Had managed to survive the destruction he had caused.

A few lives that had slipped between his war-savaged, bloodstained fingers. And he loathed them for that.

Loathed them for living, when his own people hadn't.

But, he reminded himself, as he continued to be shepherded through the ship's decrepit corridors, he couldn't let that hatred blind him or take control of him, now. That would be the death of him. If he let his emotions and anger dominate the situation at hand, he'd never get out. He would die, die on a Dalek ship and leave his children behind and alone. He would have to maintain his sanity, and win, like he always did. If he was clever, and he was very, very clever, then he _knew_ he would get out and win. Put the war to its proper end.

Naturally, the Doctor realised and understood that this would entail getting off the ship and back to his TARDIS, and it would be necessary to kill them. Kill them again. For good this time. That would be no easy task, it never was, but he found he had no qualms in doing it. No moral issues in killing them this time. No dilemma. He _wanted_ to kill them. _Wanted_ them dead.

Really, he reflected, killing the Daleks would be all too easy.

He might even enjoy it.

He felt the tug of a grin teasing the corners of his lips, and he didn't bother trying to hide it. The Daleks might notice, might not. Either way, the nihilism of his ploy never even occurred to him once.

His muscles, however, were taut and tense, and his hearts were beating out their four-beat rhythm a little too rapidly. His breath came out ragged, and he stopped for a fraction of a second to close his eyes and regain his composure, but the Dalek behind him took notice and shrilled out, "_The Doc-tor will fol-low us! Obey or you will be exter-min-ated!_" And obey he did, returning to his brisk pace, satisfying his enemies for the time being. He had to be reasonable, after all, but one taunt pressed against his inner lips and he couldn't resist releasing it.

"'Exterminate.' You like that word, don't you? It's all that you lot ever say. _Quite_ a vocabulary you've got," the Doctor sniped. He'd been expecting an answer this time. So he was surprised, not to mention a little disappointed, when none came. Miffed, he fell silent and carried on in allowing himself to be led to wherever the Daleks planned on taking him.

It really was a long march — this ship might be falling apart, yet it was huge — but finally, he was led to a side corridor, where a metal sliding door opened as the Dalek in front passed through. He was a bit too tall to fit through the doorway and was forced to duck his head a little. As soon as the smaller Dalek behind him passed through, the door slid shut with a forceful _clang_. It was dark in here; he could scarcely see for the blackness, and silent. The Doctor waited for some kind of remark, but there was nothing. So he squinted, studied what he could of his surroundings.

From what he could tell, he was in some kind of very large and mostly empty room with high ceilings. There were holes in the walls where in a normal situation, windows might belong, and he could just make out the wires in varying colours that spilled through these holes into the corridors outside in a tangled jumble. The hum of the engines was more prominent in here, perhaps this was the engine room.

Brilliantly bright lights suddenly turned on, dominating the darkness and temporarily half-blinding him. His arms flew to his face. One Dalek unexpectedly nudged him forward, and none too gently, mind. He heard a shrill order of, "_Step for-wards!_" He did so, though only because he'd been pushed.

There was something like the jolt of electricity coursing through his body.

There was pain.

It consumed him. It was everywhere and it was everything. It was white and empty and pure and very much present.

He was semi-aware of his own screams.

And then there was nothing.

**::**

There was the steady churning of engines. The air was pungent and choked with the smell of fumes and grease and machinery.

It reminded Ethan of his old London home, and it hit a little too close. Out of instinct, because it was what you were supposed to do if the air was too bad, he took the collar of his shirt and drew it to his face, covering his nose and mouth. Elodie coughed next to him and fanned at the air in front of her face, but she didn't make herself a gag. Instead, she stood still with her neck craned upwards as she looked all around them, and Ethan looked, too. He listened and he watched: he _observed_. He was good at observing. He did it better than his sister, who had always gone by basic survival principles, and together, they worked well, neither failing to acknowledge the other's skill.

Elodie spoke up first. She usually did. She was always the one with the plan. Her voice sounded afraid, though she was clearly trying to hide it. "We should go back and get some things. Some supplies." She glanced over her shoulder at Daddy's blue box. "D'you reckon we'll be able to find some things in there, Ethan? Survival supplies?"

Ethan was bewildered. "What supplies?"

His sister shrugged in response. "Dunno. Torches? Maybe it'll get dark." She moved for the TARDIS, and Ethan, unable to argue with her logic, followed her. They opened the double doors, entered, and closed them behind them. The twins didn't know where they'd find torches, but there was a cupboard in the corridor across from their bedroom, so Ethan went there while his sister scoured the console room. She beat him to it, finding two torches on the seat of the jump chair before Ethan could even reach the cupboard. She called out to him earnestly, and he rushed back to her.

"Have they got batteries in 'em?" Ethan asked, and Elodie checked before nodding in affirmation. She tossed one to him, which he fumbled to catch, and she giggled at his clumsiness, despite the gravity of the situation at hand. Ethan closed his fingers around its plastic handle tightly and examined it. The torch was different than the ones he was used to: it was bulkier, for one, but when he switched it on, the light from its beam was much brighter. That was logical, of course. Power was so expensive back home, but it seemed to Ethan that here in Daddy's funny ship there were no expenses.

The seven-year-olds, torches by their sides and free hands gripping each other with fingers intertwined, exited the TARDIS again, back to the other ship, the ship of the pepper monsters, which lacked the soothing bluish green comfort of Daddy's own vessel. This one was menacing and threatening, though to Ethan it seemed a little decrepit. Old. Rotting. And he still felt small, vulnerable.

He didn't want to let go of his twin sister's hand, but of course he had to if he was to go about looking around, and Elodie, he knew, thought the same. He squeezed her hand tight, and she squeezed right back. Then their fingers slipped from each other's as they took to their own separate tasks: Elodie pacing and looking around, and Ethan thinking. Observing.

Neither twin had any idea what they were going to do to rescue their father. They just knew they had to do it. They promised themselves they would, because it was the only thing they could come up with to do. They had no how, just a what. They had a purpose.

Of course, a purpose was always the first step, wasn't it? Auntie Sakura had told Ethan that before. _Ethan, there's no point in going on if you haven't got a purpose and if you don't know _what _it is you want and need. How? Forget how. You can come up with that later, baby. On the spot if you've got to. Remember that, always. I reckon that's how your Daddy gets about with all his day-saving. I reckon he runs off of that _what.

But then Ethan stopped thinking about Auntie Sakura, because that always saddened him, and he and Elodie couldn't afford to be sad right now.

While his twin sister paced the area, constantly looking down every corridor and potential entryway for the pepper monsters. Just because those creatures weren't here right now didn't mean they weren't coming. Ethan didn't even know if there were cameras here observing them. He didn't know if the pepper monsters were aware of their presence. Maybe not. Probably not, because they hadn't come rolling in yet. Either way, Ethan was bright and his sister was bright and they both knew they had to work quickly.

Ethan examined the metal and the walls. He found a small metal grate on the floor, and with Elodie's help he pulled it aside, but there were only wires there. He shone his torch into the pit and, with some hesitation, tugged at one of the wires. Sparks erupted, like a fuse had broken, but otherwise there was little to be found down there. He found what was possibly another corridor behind where the TARDIS had landed, but it could just as easily have been a storage cupboard for all Ethan knew, because it was blocked off by a heavy steel sliding door and it wouldn't open. There wasn't even a crack between the door and the its frame, only a very slim crack between the metal of the door and the ground. Ethan squeezed behind the blue box and hunkered down, shining his torch through the crack and squinting, but he couldn't see anything.

He eventually concluded that there was very little to study here, and went to tell Elodie this, who was currently trying to squeeze herself into the grate. She looked up at her brother when he came. "I reckon we both of us could fit down here," she said at once. "If we tried. Just gotta pull the wires aside." She tugged at one of them, jerking back when sparks erupted, but then she gave a little smile.

Ethan was confused. "What do you want to go down there for?"

She just shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe there's something down there." When her brother shook his head, she climbed back out, looking only a little bit disappointed. "We need to go and help Daddy now, don't we? I was thinkin' maybe there was some kind of secret passageway, but I guess we should just try the corridors, then, yeah?" When Ethan nodded in affirmation, she crouched down to return the lid of the grate to its place, and when it looked like no one had been down there, she nodded too. "Let's go."

The twins took each other's hands again and, after an exchanged squeeze, they began to walk down the corridor, where they could only hope that Daddy was to be found. They _didn't_ know, of course. They only knew that he was in trouble, that those pepper monsters wanted to hurt him, something having to do with _exterminate_ (whatever that meant), and that now they had to help him.

Now, Ethan was afraid. Very afraid. He'd been afraid in the past many a time; he'd lived in a world that was fuelled by fear. He was used to the feeling.

This was different. Because it was the most fear he'd ever felt, a choking fear of knowing and of not knowing. But it was the kind of fear that was mixed with determination. Maybe it was the best kind. He didn't have his _how_, but he had his _what_, and that was help Daddy. And for a seven-year-old and his twin sister on a rescue mission, it was enough. It was all he needed.


End file.
